


Just Arya, Just Gendry

by KatofKanals



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 18:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 34,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1034766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatofKanals/pseuds/KatofKanals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of Arya and Gendry in a different world, under different circumstances. Gendry is the only son of King Robert Baratheon and Arya is Ned Stark's Lyanna-look-alike daughter. This is their journey of falling in love and building a life together, including all the twists and turns along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at this, so please cut me some slack. I may not have the intricate details of George R.R. Martin's world totally under control, but I did my best. Please note that this story is totally AU and I made it all up. NOTE: Rated M for future scenes.

**1  
ARYA**

She refused to leave her chambers. She held the door shut using all her strength when Sansa tried to barge in. She put a pillow over her head when Septa Mordane prattled on about her womanly duties and the honor of House Stark and her lord father. She remained silent while her mother tried to reason with her and explain the way a man and a woman can grow into love. She nodded and pretend to be thinking carefully about what her father told her, about how he knew how hard this was for her, of how much she reminded him Lyanna, and of how he knew that Arya would be a wonderful wife in her own way.

Arya ignored the late night knock at the door. _Probably the good Septa or my dear mother again, here to convince me how happy I will be someday, how much I will love my husband someday. Today is not someday, though. And I am not happy and I do not love the stranger who will arrive tomorrow evening._

“Arya,” was all the voice on the other side said. It was enough for her to leap from the bed and open her door.

“I thought you were Sansa or Septa Mordane,” she said, making a face.

Jon Snow looked down at his tiny, fifteen year old half-sister and chuckled, “Can I come in?”

Arya stepped back from the doorway and allowed him to enter and take a seat at her window bench.

“You aren’t going to tell me of my womanly duties or how I will grow into love, will you?” she asked.

“No,” he said simply.

“Good. I knew you wouldn’t. You understand, Jon. You know that I cannot marry that boy. I cannot marry any boy.”

“He is hardly a boy.”

She rolled her eyes. “Eighteen years old. A boy, a man, it makes no difference. I won’t marry him.”

“Well, that’s too bad. I was looking forward to seeing you as a blushing bride,” Jon said with a grin.

Arya, scowling, picked up a pillow and threw it at him. “It’s not funny, you know!”

“I know,” he said, his grin disappearing. “But it’s not the end of the world either.”

“What do you mean? Of course it is! If I marry, I can’t fight with a sword. I can’t be a knight. I can’t join the Night’s Watch. I can’t…” She trailed off.

“What? What can’t you do?”

She looked at her half-brother, with tears welling in her eyes. “I can’t be Arya Stark of Winterfell.”

Jon sighed, “Is that what this is all about? Winterfell?”

Arya remained silent.

“Winterfell isn’t going anywhere. This will always be your home and will always be here for you.”

“I know,” she said quietly, wiping hot tears from her face.

“And as for the other matters, you can do most of it. Well, not the Night’s Watch, but you can’t do that married or unmarried. A wall full of men and one woman? That’s a recipe for disaster.”

“But that’s where you’ll go, isn’t it? The wall?” she asked, looking up at him.

“Yes, if our father will allow it. I’ll be a great Ranger like Uncle Benjen,” he said proudly.

Arya sighed sadly, “It’s not fair, being a woman. It’s not fair at all.”

Jon Snow moved from the chair to sit beside her on the bed. “I know. I can’t say you’re wrong about that, but you are wrong about something.”

“What?” she asked honestly.

He was quiet for a moment, looking out the window, before he turned to her and said, “You’ll always be Arya. You’ll always want to fight with a sword and ride into battle. You’ll always prefer breeches and a tunic to gowns and jewelry. You’ll always be stubborn and pushy. You’ll always be yourself. A marriage won’t change any of that. The only person who can truly change you is you. If you want to be Arya, be Arya. A sword or your clothing doesn’t define you. Be Arya, no matter what. No one can take that from you. Not even a husband.”

She stared at him, honestly thinking about his words.

“Yes, maybe you’ll grow to love him, but he’ll also probably grow to love you. If he’s not a bloody fool, that is,” Jon said, his grin returning.

Arya didn’t grin. She was still thinking.

Jon kept looking out the window while his little half-sister thought. Everyone else trying to convince Arya to consent to the marriage was motivated by other thoughts- of House Stark, of honor, and of the future. She knew Jon didn’t care about any of that more than he cared about her happiness. He simply told her the truth, not trying to convince her of anything.

Arya finally spoke, “Well, I’ll receive my betrothed tomorrow. I won’t be graceful, though. Leave the grace to Mother and Sansa. I’ll simply stand there and be Arya Stark.” And then she grinned.

Jon grinned, too, “Good. Be Arya Stark. The boy should know what he’s getting himself into from the beginning. Don’t mislead him into thinking you’re sweet and gentle. Prepare him for the greatest battle of his life- the battle of taming the wild Arya Stark of the North.”

She laughed, “That is a battle that Prince Gendry Baratheon will undoubtedly lose.”


	2. Chapter 2

**2  
NED**

He watched Catelyn standing at the doorway. She fidgeted nervously, twisting her fingers and clasping her hands together.

His wife still amused him after twenty years of days and nights together. She was anxious about the impending arrival of the King, Ned’s once dear friend Robert Baratheon. He suspected, however, that she was more anxious about their daughter, Arya, and how much trouble she would cause.

He walked to her and pulled her close. When he opened his mouth to reassure her that everything would be alright, he was interrupted by his eldest daughter, Sansa.

“She’s not in her chambers! Where is Arya?” she exclaimed. Her body, heavy with child, was moving slowly and cautiously down the stairs, but her face and voice were full of intensity and urgency.

Ned Stark had arranged a marriage last year for Sansa and Willas Tyrell of House Highgarden. Willas had a bad leg from a tourney injury in years past, but by all accounts, he was an honorable, kind man. He was heir to Highgarden and Ned knew how Sansa loved the land of the roses.

Sansa had been heartbroken at first that she was not to be wed to the dashing Knight of Flowers, Willas’ brother Loras. She was far more passive than Arya, however, and accepted her betrothal with grace and serenity.

Willas Tyrell traveled to Winterfell a few weeks before their marriage to meet Sansa and introduce himself to the Starks. It had not been part of the arrangement, but Willas insisted upon it.

“I mean no disrespect to you, Lord Stark, or my Lord father,” Willas said courteously. He continued in a firmer voice, “I do not intend to marry someone who does not want to marry me. With your leave, I will spend a few weeks at Winterfell, getting to know Sansa and your family. If she grows to love me, we’ll marry. If not, we won’t.”

Ned realized only a truly honorable man would insist upon Sansa’s happiness like that. The rest was history. Sansa treated him with every courtesy she had learned over the years, so the opposite of her sister. She allowed him to accompany her riding and on walks through the Godswood. Over time, her forced courtesies and niceties faded and true feelings took their place. She loved him, and proudly told Ned so when he inquired. He was her father, after all. Willas was not the only man concerned with her happiness.

Willas had asked Sansa herself for her hand in marriage and she consented, grinning all the while. They both had been full of joy since the day they wed, especially so since it was announced that Sansa was with child. They were truly happy and reminded him of his wife and he, when they were younger, less weary and had fewer children to exhaust them.

Ned snapped out of his reminiscing when Catelyn started bounding up the stairs, to see where Arya was herself.   
  
He shook his head, chuckling. He knew she wouldn’t be in her chambers or elsewhere in the castle hiding. He knew she’d be outside somewhere, probably soiling her gown and mussing up her perfectly braided hair.

Ned went outside to the yard to check for her in the stables. He heard the sound of trumpets and horns, heralding the King’s arrival. _The timing could not be worse. I hope this prince knows what he’s getting himself into._

Just at that moment, Arya burst out of the stables on her horse, attempting to run away. Unfortunately, Ned was standing directly in her path.

She yanked the reins and the horse stopped just in time, nearly running Ned Stark down.

“Father!” she exclaimed, her face flushed. “I thought- I thought…” She looked at him carefully, trying to surmise how he would react.

“You thought you’d escape while everyone was in the Great Hall. You thought you’d avoid this moment another day, another hour.”

She sighed and hung her head. With anyone else, she would have argued and lied. “Yes, father. I did. They’ve arrived sooner than I thought,” she stated simply, as if that explained her motives.

“Arya, I’ve never taught you to run from things. Starks do not run from their problems.”

“Well, I won’t be a Stark for much longer, will I? I’ll be a Baratheon. Maybe they run from their problems,” she snapped, forgetting who she was talking to.

Ned stood taller and inhaled, “Arya, your mother and I love you and we would never do something that wasn’t truly good for you. You know that, don’t you?”

She silently nodded.

“So, I need you to stop acting this way, to stop running and hiding. I’ve been patient with you, because I treasure your free spirit. Truly, I do, but this must end. You understand that don’t you?”

She thought for a while, looking down at her feet. After a few seconds, she looked up at her father, “Yes, father. I understand.”

He watched her face carefully and he truly believed her. His Arya would never truly yield, but she would stop trying to run away. She would accept her place in all this, but she would make that place her own. She was never one to do things any way but her own way.

The horns and trumpets sounded so close and Ned realized King Robert would be near. Ned called for the stable boy to bring his horse. He and Arya rode around to the front of the castle.

“Arya!” Sansa called. “Mother, it’s Arya, with Father!”

Catelyn opened her mouth to shout at Arya.

Arya grinned widely and said, “Ah, Mother. Sansa. There you are. I’ve been looking for you all morning. Let’s receive our guests, shall we?”

Catelyn looked from Arya to Ned and then back to Arya. “Yes, let’s,” was all she said, shaking her head and smiling to herself.

First came the banner men and then a sea of knights and guards. As the group parted, Ned saw his old friend, King Robert Baratheon. Beside him was a younger, fitter, and less ostentatious version of himself, Ned noticed. _Prince Gendry, the image of Robert in his youth._

King Robert came bounding up the middle of the guards, a small line of knights in white behind him, the Kingsguard.

Robert grinned and shouted, “My friend! My loyal, honorable friend of the North!”

To which Ned replied, “My gracious, powerful King,” and bowed. His family and the rest of the residents of Winterfell followed.

“Rise!” He clapped his son on the shoulder, hard enough to make another man waver and fall from his horse. Prince Gendry remained motionless and unsmiling.

“I present you, my only son. Prince Gendry Baratheon, first of his name, heir to Westeros and the Seven Kingdoms,” his father said proudly, looking upon the boy as if he was the greatest trophy in all the land.

Prince Gendry simply bowed his head and said, “I am honored to meet you, Lord Stark. My father speaks endlessly of your valiant history.”

“Oh, I’m sure he exaggerates, your Grace.”

“Please, call me Gendry. I’m not particularly graceful, so I don’t see why people keep referring to me as so,” he said with a forced smile. He and his father dismounted from their horses.

Robert laughed loudly. _Maybe this Prince is more his Father than I thought at first glance._

“As you wish, Prince Gendry. I present you my family, the Starks of Winterfell.” He extended his arm to Catelyn. “My wife, Lady Catelyn, daughter of Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun.”

The Prince bowed his head and kissed her hand, “I’m pleasured to meet you, Lady Stark.”

She nodded and curtsied, “And I, as well, Prince Gendry.”

King Robert had no use for curtsies and bowing. He wrapped Lady Catelyn in a tight hug and bellowed out, “Still as lovely as the day I last saw you, near ten years past!”

Catelyn laughed, “And you still flatter and lie the same, I see!”

The King laughed loudly and turned to Ned, who he slapped on the back.

The laughing stopped and King Robert and Ned exchanged a long look. Ned broke the silence and said, “It’s truly good to see you, Robert.”

Robert nodded, “Aye, it is. Now, will you take me to pay my respects?”

Ned knew that would be the first thing he’d want to do. He nodded and turned to Catelyn, “My Lady, please get the feast started. We will finish the rest of the introductions later. Prince Gendry, my eldest son Robb will show you to your chambers.”

Prince Gendry nodded and followed Robb.

Ned motioned for King Robert to follow him and down to Crypt they went, to see Lyanna, Robert’s once betrothed.


	3. Chapter 3

**3  
GENDRY**

“Thank you for escorting me, Robb,” Gendry said as Robb walked with him up the steps.

The future Lord of Winterfell nodded, “It’s an honor to have you and King Robert here, Your Gra- Prince Gendry, I mean.”

“The honor is ours, Robb. The little I’ve seen of Winterfell so far is beautiful. What a nice place to grow up.”

“You are too kind, my Prince. I’m sure it pales in comparison to King’s Landing.”

“King’s Landing has an exaggerated beauty to it, I think,” Gendry said thoughtfully. “But it is all hot air and bright colors. Winterfell has a quiet, reserved aesthetic. I think I rather like it.”

“Thank you for saying so, Prince Gendry.”

Gendry stopped and put his arm in front of Robb. “Please, enough with Prince. I’m Prince all the time. For this trip, I think I’ll prefer to be just Gendry, if you don’t mind.”

Robb smiled, “As you wish, Gendry.”

Gendry smiled back and resumed climbing the steps to his chambers, “You know our fathers were the best of friends, I’ve heard.”

“I know. I’ve heard about your father all my life.”

“And I, yours. I suppose this means we’re meant to be great friends, as well.”

“I suppose it does,” Robb said grinning.

“What do you do for fun in Winterfell?”

Robb thought for a moment. “Not enough. We ride, we hunt, and we fight. Much the same as anywhere else I think.”

“Do you like having so many brothers, Robb?”

“Aye, there’s a lot of us, but it keeps things interesting.”

“How old are you, Robb?”

“I just turned nineteen.”

“I’ll be nineteen in a few weeks’ time. Are you betrothed?”

“No. Many eligible maids have been presented to me, but…” Robb trailed off.

“But, what?”

“But, they are all plain or boring or stupid or unkind. My mother says I am far too particular.”

Gendry laughed, “And your father, what does he say?”

“He’s patient, but that’s running out. He wants his heir to be happy with his wife. He doesn’t rush me, but I know my time is short.”

“Better find a maid that pleases you quick, then, before one is found for you,” Gendry said, with a little bitterness.

They reached his chambers and Robb opened the door, “It’s plain, but comfortable. Should you need anything, please let me or one of our stewards know. I’m sure you’ll want to rest before the feast. Your father has brought several casks of Dornish wine with him. It’s not often we get Southron wine so far up North and I imagine it will be a raucous affair.”

Gendry laughed and walked over to the window.

Robb turned to leave the room, but stopped when Gendry asked, “Is she truly as wild as they say, Robb?”

Robb hesitated. After a moment, he turned to face Gendry, with a smile on his face, “No.”

Gendry exhaled, unsure if he was pleased or not.

“She’s worse.”

Gendry shot Robb a look of concern and the two new friends threw their heads back and laughed.


	4. Chapter 4

**4  
ARYA**

“Well thank the Gods we didn’t have to present you to Prince Gendry outside,” Sansa said exasperated. “Your hair!”

Arya rolled her eyes and allowed them to fix her.

“He is rather handsome, don’t you think, Arya?” her sister asked.

Arya didn’t say a word.

Her mother chimed in, “He’s the spitting image of Robert twenty years ago, almost identical. His eyes seem even bluer than Robert’s. Perhaps he gets that from his mother.”

“Who was his late mother?” Sansa asked.

Arya pretended not to be listening, but she was curious. _I’ve never heard anyone speak of his mother before. Just his Kingly father._

Catelyn shook her head, “I never knew her. Not many did, honestly. I could not even tell you her name. Some say she was a tavern girl.”

“A tavern girl?” Sansa asked, the shock evident on her face.

“Yes, it is not known, though. Robert never spoke of her after she died.”

“When did she die?” Arya asked, forgetting that she was feigning disinterest.

Catelyn answered, “In child-bed. Prince Gendry never knew her, like practically everyone else.”

Sansa shifted uncomfortably. That topic was sensitive for her. She was a moon or two from giving birth herself.

Catelyn touched her daughter on the shoulder, “You’ll be fine, dear. Do not worry. I birthed five healthy babes. Maester Luwin said it was some of the easiest births he’s experienced. I would disagree on the easy part, but you needn’t worry, Sansa.”

Sansa forced a smile, “I’m not, Mother. I am worried about my sister, however.”

“Me?” Arya asked incredulously.

“Yes, you. I’m worried that you’re going to bungle this whole thing.”

“With any luck,” she grinned deviously.

“Oh hush, Arya. You almost look presentable. Let’s finish this without any fighting, please,” Catelyn said.

“You do look rather lovely, Arya. And you fill out that gown better the last time I saw you in it at my wedding. When did you grow breasts?” Sansa asked, laughing to herself.

Arya picked up a brush and made to throw it at her sister before her mother caught her wrist.

“Arya, your sister is with child. Don’t throw things at her,” Catelyn chided, then adding, “At least not for another few moons.”

“Mother!” exclaimed Sansa, while her sister laughed loudly.

Catelyn spun Arya around to re-tie the back of her gown. “She says it true, though. You have quite the woman’s figure now, Arya. Usually you’re clad in a boy’s breeches and tunic and do not give anyone the opportunity to notice.”

Arya remained silent. _That’s the point, Mother. Why would I want anyone to notice that?_

There was a knock on the door and Jon Snow entered. He opened his mouth to say something, before he shut it again, gazing at Arya.

“What is it?” Catelyn asked impatiently.

Jon smiled, “My apologies ladies. I’m just not used to seeing Arya looking so feminine.”

Arya knew her mother would not object to her throwing a brush at Jon, but she didn’t. She just crossed her arms and walked over the window, frustrated with all of the attention her bosom and hips were getting.

“The King and Lord Stark request your presence. They are back from the Crypt and are ready for the feast.”

“Where is the Prince?” asked Catelyn.

“On his way to join them. I just called on him, as well.”

“Thank you. You may leave.”

He bowed slightly and chuckled to himself as he walked out of the room.

Catelyn and Sansa looked into the mirror and tucked in a few stray hairs, flattened their gowns, and put some powder on their cheeks.

Arya watched them primp in unison, noticing for the millionth time how different she was from her mother and sister.

“Sansa, why don’t you go to your chambers and bring Willas downstairs with you?” Catelyn suggested.

Sansa nodded and left the room, her skirts sweeping behind her.

“Arya, come. Let’s go to the feast.”

She turned to her mother and asked, “Just another minute? I’ll join you in a moment, I promise.”

Catelyn eyed her daughter suspiciously.

“I swear,” Arya said earnestly.

“Alright. Just a minute.” She walked over to her daughter and embraced her, “I love you.”

Arya hugged her back, “I love you too, Mother.”

Catelyn smiled and left the room.

Arya flopped onto her bed. _If only I was born a boy. Robb has been allowed to refuse four potential betrothals. Yet I am being compelled to marry this flowery, courteous Prince. He probably doesn’t even fight with a sword as well as I do. He probably has his guards do his fighting. What does a Prince need to use a sword for?_

She got up from the bed, realizing that if she didn’t go downstairs soon, her mother would come back and she would be in trouble. Lately, her mother had taken to punishing Arya by forcing her to wear dresses and gowns and confiscating all of her breeches and tunics. _What would it matter? I’m already in a gown. I’m already being punished._

Arya caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror before she left the room. _I look silly. I don’t look beautiful like Sansa or elegant like Mother._ She sighed and slowly went down the stairs.

She stood around the corner from the Great Hall and could hear the introductions. Her father was speaking to the King, the Prince, and the Lords and Knights that had come from all over the North to receive the King.

“This is my eldest son, Robb, heir to Winterfell.”

“A strong heir like my own! If only I had a daughter to betroth you too, as well. That would further bind our families” the King called out, pleased.

“Thank you, your Grace,” Robb replied courteously.

Arya noticed that King Robert didn’t object to being called Your Grace, though that man had even less grace than Arya.

“My eldest daughter, Sansa, and her Lord husband, Willas Tyrell, heir to Highgarden. Married the year past.”

Arya laughed at the idea of Sansa attempting to curtsy, but her big round belly getting in the way.

King Robert chuckled and said, “May the Gods bless you and your little one and let us hope that your sister is equally as fertile!”

Arya crossed her arms and stomped her foot. _I do not like this King. He’s old and fat and stupid. Anyone who knows anything knows I won’t be fertile. I’ll take lives away on the battlefield before I bring new lives in to the world._

She heard her sister reply daintily, “Thank you, your Grace. You are too kind.”

Her father continued, “My second and third sons, Brandon and Rickon Stark, King Robert.”

“Two more strong wolves, Ned,” the King replied.

Ned laughed and said, “Not wolves, just sons. Thank you, Robert.”

“I think you’re forgetting one, though, my friend. The one we are all here to see.”

Arya sighed. This was her cue. She gathered up her skirts and strode into the Great Hall, with all the false confidence she could muster.

“I’m here,” she called, before her father could reply.

Everyone turned in their seats to look at her. She felt a hundred eyes upon her and it made her skin crawl. _Everyone is looking at me like they look at my mother and Sansa. I should be wearing breeches and a sword belt. Then see how they look at me!_

Ned motioned for Arya to stand beside him, “Robert, this is my second daughter, Arya, first of her name.”

Arya had been looking at the floor, not wanting to make eye contact with the King, or worse- the Prince.

“Yes. Yes, Ned. A vision of Lyanna…” the King trailed off.

Arya looked up at that. She had heard people compare her to her aunt before, but she didn’t expect it from the King. She felt odd, knowing how he loved her aunt. It made her feel uncomfortable the way his sad eyes stared at her.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Ned prompted the King, “Will you introduce my daughter to your son, Robert?”

The King seemed to awake from his stupor, “Why yes. Yes, of course.” His previous air of humor and joviality returned. “This is my fine son, my heir. Prince Gendry Baratheon, first of his name.”

Arya didn’t notice until just now that the Prince had risen from his seat when she entered the room. He dipped into a slight bow, not acting too ostentatiously.

_I will NOT curtsy. I’m not some little lady that will swoon all over you, Prince._

Arya simply nodded her head. She waited for him to say something, but he never did. She expected him to comment on her beauty or express how pleased he was to finally meet her, but said nothing. This angered her. _He doesn’t want to marry me either! That boy Prince isn’t interested in Horseface Arya Stark of the North._

For the second time she noticed everyone’s eyes. They were all looking between her and the Prince, waiting anxiously for some sign of love at first sight.

After a long silence, her father said, “Now that the introductions are through, let’s begin our feast in honor of the King and the Prince and their journey to Winterfell.”

The entire hall took this as the cue to raise their glasses of wine, ale, and mead, and shout, “To the King!”

Arya climbed the steps to the dais and made for her usual seat. Whenever they had feasts at Winterfell, Ned sat in the middle seat, Catelyn to his left. Her brother Robb sat to his right, and Bran and Rickon to the right of Robb. Sansa sat beside Catelyn and Arya beside her. This left Arya at the end of the table and she would always have to sit beside some visiting Lord. Sometimes the Lords had good stories to share, but most of the time, they were boring and treated her like a Lady.

As she went for her seat, she realized they were not arranged in the usual order. The King sat in the middle, with Prince Gendry to his right. The only seat open on the dais was the seat between the Prince and her sister. _Oh Seven Hells, could there be a worse seat?_

She rolled her eyes as she climbed the dais and sat down. She refused to look to her left. She didn’t want to know if Prince Gendry was looking at her, because she couldn’t decide if she wanted him to or not. _Poor Prince Gendry, stuck sitting next to Arya Horseface._

She took a sip of her wine and turned to Sansa, choosing the lesser of two evils. Before she could even say anything to her though, Sansa mouthed angrily, “Talk to him.”

Arya scowled and turned back to face the Hall. She searched for Jon Snow, sitting on one of the lower tables. _I wish I was a bastard so I could sit beside Jon and not this dull Prince._ She found him showing a Knight his sword. She looked away, not wanting to think any more about how wonderful it would be if she was a bastard, too.

“Lady Arya, I hear you sometimes like to play at sword training!” the King called out.

This forced her to turn and face him and his son, who in fact was not looking at her, but looking down at his plate.

“Yes, your highness. I train with a sword, but I wouldn’t say I’m playing.”

Sansa kicked her under the table, to which Arya responded with a kick of her own.

King Robert laughed, “Yes, yes. I’m sure. My son is a fine swordsman. Perhaps even better than I… But no one can best me when I have my warhammer. Isn’t that so, Ned?”

Her father agreed, “The King is rather fearsome with a warhammer in his hand.”

Arya forced a smile, which she was sure looked more like a grimace, and nodded. She returned her gaze to her plate.

She spent the rest of next hour eating and keeping her focus away from the regal Prince beside her. A singer started singing sweet tunes and she pretend to be deep in listening, avoiding any and all conversation. Just because she accepted that she must marry the Prince didn’t mean that she would speak to him.

When Sansa stood up to excuse herself to go make water, which she now had to do every hour, Arya took it as her opportunity to escape. She grabbed Sansa’s arm from Willas and declared that she would escort her sister.

Willas smiled and gave his consent to Arya, knowing she needed to have a moment to herself.

She whisked Sansa out of the Great Hall before anyone else could object. She did notice the Prince stood courteously as Arya made her exit. _Why did he keep doing that? Doesn’t he know anything? Princes and Kings don’t have to stand when a Lady stands. He’s stupid, too! That is just grand._

Sansa scolded her all the way to the privy and Arya just nodded silently and agreed with her for once. She didn’t want to fight with Sansa. She just wanted to get Sansa into the privy and then sneak away. She didn’t know where she would go next, anywhere but that stupid Great Hall with that stupid King and his stupid son.

The privy door closed and Arya didn’t wait another minute. She bolted, holding her skirts up high to avoid tripping.

She burst out into the yard and stood still for a moment. _Where can I go? Where can I go?_ She took a deep breath and inhaled the cold, crisp night air. _The Godswood! I’ll go climb a tree in the Godswood and watch them all look for me!_

Arya started running around the perimeter of the castle. She thought she heard someone call her name and turned her head at the same time she rounded the corner to the entrance of the Godswood.

Before she knew what happened, she was flat on her back and a large, strange man was standing over her.

“Arya?” he asked.

“Oh Seven Hells… _” It’s the Prince._


	5. Chapter 5

**5  
GENDRY**

Gendry stared down at the small, young lady on the ground with his mouth agape. He suddenly remembered his courtesies and the fact he had knocked his betrothed flat on her back.

“Lady Arya, I’m most sorry. I didn’t see you there,” he said as he reached his hand down to help her up.

She nearly swatted his hand away, but clearly thought better of it. She scowled and got up herself. “What are you doing out here?” she demanded.

He wasn’t used to be spoken to like that by anyone but his father, “What are you doing out here? Weren’t you escorting your Lady sister?”

Arya huffed, “Well she can find her way back from the privy herself I’m sure. Aren’t you supposed to be feasting beside the King?”

“Aren’t you supposed to feasting beside me?” he countered.

Arya rolled her eyes and turned and started to walk away.

_She’s bold, and she does not like me. That much, I know._

Gendry followed her, “Are you going to the Godswood?”

“No.”

“Really? Because it looks like you’re going to the Godswood.”

She rolled her eyes again, “You don’t need to follow me. I’m fine. You can go back to the feast now.”

“And why would I want to do that?”

“Because, Your Grace,” her voice dripping in disdain, “You’re a prince and princes love feasts. A prince love singing and dancing and letting his royal subjects swoon all over him.”

“Well, you’re a Lady and ladies love feasts and singing and dancing and swooning even more than princes,” he said indignantly.

“I’m not a lady!”

“You look like a lady.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded, stopping him in his tracks. Her eyes were dark with anger.

“Your gown, your hair, your figure- they all betray your lady-like nature,” he said grinning deviously.

“Oh bloody please. I don’t normally wear all this junk!” she cried.

“And what do you normally wear?”

“Breeches and a tunic.”

“I see,” he said, smiling still.

Arya rolled her eyes for the third time and she started walking again, with him following beside her.

“Your eyes will get stuck in the back of your head if you keep doing that,” he jested.

“Oh good, now you sound like Old Nan. I’m betrothed to Old Nan! Fantastic.”

Now it was Gendry’s turn to stop. She had acknowledged their impending marriage.

Arya turned and saw he was no longer following her. She stopped and almost looked sorry, almost.

“I take it you do not wish to marry me, Lady Arya,” he said passively as he continued walking. 

This time Arya followed him, “I don’t wish to marry anyone, Your Grace.”

“Your Grace? I thought I was your Old Nan,” he said shortly.

“Well, I suppose you’re both,” Arya replied grinning as deviously as he had been earlier.

“May I ask why you do not wish to marry me?”

“I told you, I don’t wish to marry anyone, but especially not you.”

He raised his eyebrows at her, waiting for an explanation.

“I want to be a knight,” she said quietly after a while. Her eyes shot to his, almost daring him to laugh at her.

_I better not laugh. She’s like to hit me, this one._

He questioned her further, “And you can’t be a knight married to me?”

“I’d be a queen, married to you. Queens definitely can’t be knights.”

“Ah, now that’s where you’re wrong,” he said, shaking his head.

“What do you mean? I’m right!”

“It would seem to me that being married to me is the only way you could be a knight truly. A queen does what she wants and has no care for tradition or the opinions of others,” he said, smiling to himself.

Arya stopped walking beside him and he didn’t follow suit. He kept on going back to the feast and couldn’t help the smile that spread on his face.


	6. Chapter 6

**6**  
ARYA  


A few days after the arrival of the King and Prince, Arya was searching Rickon’s chambers for her bow. He was always stealing her things, taunting her by saying a lady has no need for bows except for the ones in her hair. She suddenly heard loud voices and went to the balcony, which seemed to be the direction they were coming from.

She could tell that the King and her father were arguing. It was unusual for the two good friends and for Ned Stark, who normally considered arguing with his King dishonorable. Ned Stark was nothing if not honorable.

“But why, Ned? Why should my son wait for your daughter?” King Robert demanded.

“Because she’s not ready yet, Robert. Don’t you want their marriage to be happy? Another year, that’s all I ask.”

“Absolutely not! I won’t hear of it!”

“Why not, Robert?”

“She’s fifteen, a maid flowered! The same age her sister married the Tyrell boy! And she’s already with child!”

“They are two entirely different people. Arya isn’t ready to be everything you and Prince Gendry need her to be,” replied Ned.

Arya felt guilty that her father was arguing with the King on her behalf. _I wish I was more like Sansa, but I’m scared of being his wife. I don’t even know him. We’ve only ever spoken once and he was rude! Well, I was rude, too, I suppose. But he’s a prince and he’s supposed to be courteous._

“Ned, I am tired of waiting. Gendry is my only heir. If something should happen to him…” he paused. “I do not intend to have another child. Gendry needs an heir of his own. The threats to my rule grow every day. The Lannisters have been biding their time since I refused Cersei’s hand, waiting for a Usuper to support. Or perhaps raising one of their own. The Targaryen girl lives across the Narrow Sea, gathering an army of horse lords, they say. The whispers come in every day. Westeros needs my son. And my son needs a wife.”

There was a long silence.

“Does she have to be my daughter?”

Arya’s mouth dropped.

“What are you saying, Ned?”

“I’m saying, perhaps if the need is so urgent, you should find another girl for the Prince, Robert.”

“Your Grace! Call me Your Grace!” the King bellowed.

“Of course, Your Grace. I forgot myself.”

“You did! You did forget. You forgot that I rule this kingdom and I make the decisions. We are not squires or soldiers any longer. I want my son to marry your daughter before the end of Summer and a King gets what he wants,” King Robert said coldly.

“Not necessarily when what he wants is my daughter. She’s not her, Robert.”

“DON’T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT!” Robert screamed.

_Are they talking about Lyanna? Of course, I’m not Lyanna. She’s dead. What are they talking about?_

Her father didn’t say anything.

“She will marry my son if I have to drag her down the aisle myself!”

Ned Stark would not remain silent to that, “Nor you, your guards, nor your son will lay a hand on my daughter unless I consent.”

At that, the King began to yell and curse like an insolent child who didn’t get what he wanted for his name-day. Arya knew that it was unfair of her to put her father through this and she didn’t want her family to suffer for her inability to grow up. _I’ll go and tell them that I’m ready. While I’m at it, I’ll also tell that old, fat King what I think of him._ She was just getting up to run and tell them this when she heard a third voice.

“Father.”

King Robert stopped yelling and Arya stopped herself from leaving just yet. She had a feeling she would want to hear this.

“Prince Gendry, I’m sorry if we disturbed you. Your father and I were just discussing the timeline of your betrothal to Arya,” her father said diplomatically, in complete control of his emotions.

“You did not, Lord Stark. My father, however, disturbs me on a daily basis,” he said casually.

The King started to explain that Ned was trying to delay the wedding or abolish the betrothal entirely, “Stark means to-”

Gendry cut him off, “I’ve been standing outside the door and thankfully for me, Father, your voice is very loud. I know exactly what Lord Stark intends.”

“We won’t stand for it, I told him. We won’t!”

“You won’t, Father. I will. Why would I want to marry a girl who is not ready to marry me?”

Arya nearly fell over. _What he is doing? Why would he care about delaying the marriage? He’s the Prince and princes don’t worry about the feelings of a fifteen year old girl. He’s probably trying to get out of it. Horseface Arya Stark is not a queen. He doesn’t want to marry me, either._

“Gendry! I will remind you, as well, that I am King! And I will decide who you marry!” the King shouted.

“Father, I need no reminding of that. I accept that you wish for me to marry Lady Arya and I do not object to that.”

_What is he saying? He can’t want to marry me! I was rude to him!_

Gendry continued, “She’s beautiful and quick-witted. And I honestly believe that someday she could grow fond of me and I of her. Why force it though, Father? Why force something that could occur naturally?”

The King was silent.

“I will marry her if it’s what you want, Father, but I ask for your leave to spend some time at Winterfell. I aim to follow Ser Willas Tyrell’s pattern and get to know Lady Arya before I compel her to marry me. You may return to King’s Landing, Father. I will remain here, waiting for Lady Arya.”

_Waiting for me? Does he think once I turn sixteen that I’m magically going to fall in love with him? Why should he care if we get married now or later? I’ll never love him like a lady loves her lord. Or a princess loves her prince._

King Robert spoke, “If that is what you wish, son, then I will grant it to you, but remember that I will not wait forever. Do not test me, boy.”

They must have left the room because everything went silent. Arya sat on the balcony for nearly an hour afterwards, unsure of everything she thought she understood previously.


	7. Chapter 7

**7  
GENDRY**

King Robert left Winterfell about two weeks after the fight and resolution with Ned Stark. He disliked the cold, the wine, and the women, all bundled in their coats and furs. He kept telling everyone so, particularly his son.

“How can you want to remain in this cold, wintery land of stone?” he asked shortly before he departed.

“I rather like it, Father. The wine is terrible, though. You are right about that,” Gendry replied with a smirk.

“Don’t forget why you are here, son. You’ll not stay here for years searching hopelessly for a woman’s love,” the King said gruffly.

Gendry watched his father and the large host of guards ride off. He had repeatedly assured the King that he’d be able to capture Arya’s heart, but he was not certain that was true. He wasn’t even certain that he wanted her love. He barely knew the wild Northern girl, but it was his duty to try and he would. 

He knew that he should be spending time with his betrothed, but she seemed about as eager to spend time with him as she was to wear gowns and gossip with her sister. So, Gendry spent most of his time with Robb Stark, Theon Greyjoy, and Jon Snow. Gendry never knew what it was like to have brothers, but he reckoned that the experience with the three young men of Winterfell’s Great Keep was as close as he had ever come. They spent most of their days laughing, hunting, and practicing their fighting skills. Theon was the most skilled with a bow, but the three others bested him easily at swordplay. Gendry was used to being superior to others his age or even a few years older when it came to swordsmanship, but Jon Snow was far more accomplished than he. Robb explained that Jon practiced relentlessly, even alone at night in his chambers. 

They often spoke of their futures. Robb would speak of being Lord of Winterfell one day, his birthright. Jon would go on about the Wall and the Ranger he would become when his Lord father finally gave him leave to go. Theon mainly spoke of all the beautiful maidens he would ruin and Gendry suspected he didn’t have many more aspirations for himself than that. Gendry almost never spoke of being King, even though most would say he had the greatest future of all to ponder.

After a few days of spending his time doing whatever he wanted, Gendry was asked by Ned Stark and Maester Luwin to join the rest of the Stark extended brood during their studies. Lord Stark never explicitly ordered him to attend the lessons, but he made it clear enough that it was not optional- not even for the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. Gendry was intrigued by Ned Stark’s quiet authority. He never yelled or ordered anyone around, yet people did what was required of them without questions or complaints. Everyone from the servants of the Great Keep to the knights and guards to the smallfolk of Winter Town seemed to respect and love their Lord. Gendry suspected he could learn far more about leadership and ruling a kingdom from Lord Stark in Winterfell than he ever could from his father or anyone else in King’s Landing.

So, Gendry began attending lessons with the Starks, Theon, and Jon. After everyone finished breakfast, they would all go to Maester Luwin’s tower, which comprised of his personal chambers, a large study room, and a library.

Each morning Maester Luwin would provide each pupil with an assignment to work on until mid-day. During this block of time, he would walk around and confer individually with each of them, making sure they were progressing and understanding the subjects appropriately.

Maester Luwin sometimes assigned him to work with Arya or share whatever tome she was reading. The Maester clearly hoped that these experiences would spark something between the pair. Arya generally ignored him and when she did acknowledge his presence beside her it was only to complain about how long it was taking him to finish reading the page. Gendry was quite learned, but it appeared that Arya was more advanced that he.

Despite Arya’s coldness, the lessons in Winterfell were far more stimulating and exciting than in King’s Landing. He was the sole pupil there and had multiple Maesters instructing him at once. They often argued about the best approaches to teach him things, leaving Gendry to sit and stare out the window until they reached an agreement.

After the mid-day meal, the students separated. Arya was forced to spend time with her mother and the other ladies of the castle. Rickon and Bran continued to work with Maester Luwin since they were still very young and required more practice with their numbers and reading. Theon and Jon Snow were free to do as they pleased. Jon spent this time training in the yard and sometimes Theon joined him. Robb traditionally shadowed his father for an hour or two after mid-day meal. He was being groomed to become Lord of Winterfell someday and who better to learn from than Lord Ned Stark himself. Gendry was free to do as he pleased during this time, as well, but Ned Stark offered to include him in his private lessons with Robb. He accepted, hoping to learn a little more about how Ned Stark led his people and his family.

One day, while shadowing Ned during a meeting with a visiting Lord, Gendry caught a glimpse of Arya from the window in the solar. He went to have a closer look and observed her training with Jon in the yard with wooden tourney swords. He could see her slashing and charging at Jon, who skillfully dodged each of her attacks. Gendry could tell Arya was growing frustrated, but she accepted Jon’s suggestions and adjustments to her form. They resumed their practice fighting for a few minutes. After managing to land a hit on Jon’s chest, Arya cheered triumphantly. She was laughing and jumping up and down, clearly celebrating her successful execution of whatever Jon just taught her to do. He pulled her down to the ground with him and they lay in the dirt, laughing and resting after their exertion.

Gendry had never noticed until that moment how lovely Arya’s face looked when she smiled or laughed genuinely. _Probably because she never does anything but scowl or look sullen when she’s near me._

He continued to watch her from the window, noticing how free she looked, rolling in the dirt with her natural brother. She wasn’t anything like Ladies at court in King’s Landing. Their smiles were limited and forced. They curtsied and spoke sweetly, but they never truly laughed with abandon like Arya was currently doing.

Gendry found himself thinking of the last girl he kissed. A few months past he had been visiting Renly in the Stormlands. Cortnay Penrose’s daughter, Dareen, came upon him one night in the library. He and Renly had been trying to name some of the man-made wonders described in Lomas Longstrider’s “Wonders Made by Man” and he wanted to learn more of the triple walls of Qarth.

Dareen made pleasant conversation with him for a while, but it was clear she had other intentions for remaining in the library. She was pretty, but only in a way that is the result of careful work. If he looked closely, she was as homely as any other. She sat close beside him as he read aloud from Longstrider’s book. Eventually he kissed her. It was pleasant, but somewhat awkward. The longer he kissed her, the more resistance he felt within himself. After a few minutes, he separated from her and noticed the expression on her face. Dareen clearly enjoyed kissing him, but she was looking at him with pure ambition in her eyes. She didn’t want to kiss Gendry, she wanted to kiss the Prince, Robert Baratheon’s son. He made an excuse and left the library quickly.

In his reminiscing, he began to think about what intentions he would find in Arya’s eyes if he were to kiss her. _Would there be ambition in her eyes, too? Would there be love? Actually, there would most likely be anger in her eyes and force in her palm as it collided with my face. She can’t stand to even speak to me, let alone kiss me. What’s gotten into me?_

He must have been standing at the window for a long while, because all of the sudden, the visiting Lord was bowing and saying goodbye to him. Gendry tried to act as though he had been paying attention to their discussion, but Lord Stark was eyeing him curiously. Ned then accompanied the Lord out of the solar and Gendry was left with Robb.

“What have you been staring at, Gendry?” Robb said with a chuckle as he crossed the room to the window Gendry had been standing beside earlier. He must have seen Arya and Jon outside, because his eyes shot to Gendry and his brow was furrowed, “Were you staring at Arya?”

Gendry shrugged and tried to act apathetic, “She was sparring with Jon. It was interesting.”

Robb stared at him for a moment and then seemed to accept his explanation. He looked out the window again, “Gods, she’s covered in dirt. She’s half-wildling, I swear it.”  

Gendry walked back over the window and saw Arya getting up from the ground and walking towards the Great Keep with Jon. Robb left the window and called for Gendry to join him to go see what Theon was doing.

_She’s a lovely half-wildling, though. I can see that now._


	8. Chapter 8

# 8  
ARYA

For the first few weeks of Gendry’s stay in Winterfell Arya all but ignored him. Just because he intended to win her affection didn’t mean she suddenly had a change in heart. Maybe she misjudged him initially, but she was no closer to falling in love with him than she was to hatching a dragon.

After a few attempts, Gendry seemed to give up on trying to talk to her. _Isn’t the whole reason he stayed was to spend time with me? He never even tries to talk to me anymore. He spends all his time with Jon, Robb, and Theon, riding and joking, having a grand old time. Why isn’t he following me around, trying to make me fall in love with him?_

The more she learned about the Prince, the more confused she was. He was to be a king, but yet he was of common birth. He was courteous, yet he didn’t treat her like a little lady. He told her father he wanted to marry her, yet he all but ignored her everywhere else.

Today was different, however. She had been brushing her horse in the stables, planning on going for a quick ride outside the gates. She technically wasn’t allowed to ride beyond Winterfell’s walls by herself. However, if she waited until the guards changed mid-day, she could sometimes sneak out unnoticed.

This time, she made it to the gate and was about to sneak through when she realized there were already guards on the other side. She was too late, but decided to try her luck anyway.

Her horse trotted through as she sat up straight and pretended not to notice the guards.

“Lady Arya!”

She winced and turned her horse, “Just going for a quick jaunt around the gates, Ser. I’ll be back shortly.”

“I beg your pardon, my lady, but your Lord father gave us orders not to let you ride beyond the walls on your own.”

“But you see I’m not really going _beyond_ the walls. I’m just going _around_ the walls. No need to worry,” she said with a smile, as she urged her horse to start trotting again.

The other guard jumped in front of her and grabbed the reins, “I apologize, my lady. I can’t allow it. Your father specifically said to carry you over my shoulder if I had to.”

“That won’t be necessary, Ser,” she heard a voice say behind them. She turned to see Prince Gendry, astride his horse, trotting towards them.

The guards knelt before him, both answering, “Your Grace.”

“I’ll be accompanying, Lady Arya. She won’t be alone,” he explained. “Thank you for your efforts, though.”

The guards stood and kept thanking Gendry. _For what? He didn’t do anything to thank him for._

Arya didn’t wait for her noble betrothed to finish praising the guards for the braveness in denying a girl a ride on her horse. She kicked her horse forward, which sent him galloping off away from Winterfell.

He caught up to her eventually, but not until they were leagues away from the walls and the guards.

“You ride well, my lady,” he called to her.

“I’m not your lady!”

“I forgot. What should I call you then?” He sauntered up next to her, slightly breathless from the intense ride.

“Oh I don’t know, Your Grace. How about my name?” she replied sardonically.

“Ah, alright. But then you must call me by my name.”

“Fine.”

They rode silently for a few minutes, Gendry following her lead.

She stopped alongside a small creek and jumped down from her horse. She led him to the water to let him drink and rest for a moment. The Prince followed suit.

_Why wasn’t he saying anything? He’s supposed to be getting to know me! Gods, he’s so stupid. He doesn’t even know that you need to talk to someone to get to know them._

Finally she couldn’t take it any longer, “I see you’ve been spending a lot of time with my brothers and Theon.”

“Yes,” he simply replied, continuing to stroke the coat of his horse.

She turned from him, frustrated by his lack of effort to converse with her. _Well if he doesn’t want to talk, fine. We won’t talk. It’s not as if I want to marry him anyhow. He already knows that. Everyone already knows that._

After a while longer of the two just standing there, Gendry said, “Do you wish that I spent more time with you?”

Arya snapped her head to face him, “What?”

_Why would he think that? Why should I care if he spends time with my brothers and Theon? I was only asking to make conversation._

“Do you wish for me to spend more time with you? And less time with Robb, Jon, and Theon?” he repeated.

“I don’t care what you do!” she exclaimed passionately.

“I don’t mean to offend you. I only ask because you know that’s the true motive of my stay here in the North. You’ve never seemed to want to spend any time with me at all. I don’t know how to get to know you if you don’t want me near you,” he said earnestly.

She looked at him silently. Her thoughts were rushing through her head. _I don’t want to spend time with him. I don’t, but I have to marry him. I know my father will be in trouble with the King if I don’t marry him. I suppose I can’t ignore him for the rest of our lives._

“I have to marry you,” she said plainly.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, walking towards her.

“I should get to know the man I will marry before I’m stuck with him for the rest of my life,” she said, a small smile on her lips.


	9. Chapter 9

**9**

**CATELYN  
**

Catelyn Stark could barely believe her eyes. She and Ned were breaking their fast on eggs and sausages in the small dining hall off of the kitchens when she saw Arya and Gendry walk past the window outside.

“Did you see that?” Ned asked his wife.

“I did. Is that new?”

“I think so. They went on a ride a few days ago. The guards told me. Since then, they’ve been talking here and there,” he explained.

“Do you think our wild daughter is falling in love with the handsome prince?” she asked, smiling.

“No. I think she’s realized that she’ll marry him regardless and she might as well get to know him first. But it’s better than her total refusal to acknowledge his existence. Though, I am worried it might mean she’s trying to remove suspicion from herself so she get a better shot at running away.”

“She wouldn’t!” Catelyn exclaimed.

Ned chuckled, “She might.”

Lady Stark huffed, “Well, if she were _my_ daughter, she would never dream of running away.”

Ned eyed furrowed his brow, “Last I checked she’s as much your daughter as she is mine.”

Catelyn shook her head, “No, Sansa is _my_ daughter. She loves sewing, dancing, and stories of princes and princesses. Arya is _your_ daughter. You’ve encouraged her wild spirit, not me.”

Ned laughed, “I know I do. She’s just so bright and full of life when she’s happy. I’ve never been able to deny her what makes her that way. And it just so happens that what makes her happy is rarely what is proper.”

Catelyn sighed. _He sees Lyanna in her, not just her look, but her soul, too. He can’t force her to grow into a proper lady, because when he sees her riding or fighting with her brothers, he sees his sister._

“Well, since she managed to stop ignoring him and started talking to him, maybe she’ll fall in love with him, too,” Catelyn said with a hopeful smile.

“Better not let her hear you say that. You might scare her off.”

Later that day, she was in the kitchens, checking on dinner. The cook, Marta, went to go fetch some milk from the barn. Catelyn was in one of the closets, looking to see if they had any of the Dornish wine left from King Robert’s visit. The Northern wine really was so poor in comparison to that of the South.

As she rustled through the endless bottles of ale and dull, musty Northern wine, she heard the doors to the kitchen open and her daughter’s voice approaching.

“You are an entire foot taller than I am. What are you talking about unfair advantage?” Arya said, laughing.

“When we’re facing each other, you’re down there, closer to my knees, swinging the tourney sword. I’m totally bruised all over my legs.”

“Oh please,” she replied. Catelyn could practically hear her daughter’s eye-roll. _I’ve got to make her stop doing that. Rolling one’s eyes is not something a Princess would ever do._

Catelyn didn’t intend to spy, but she didn’t want to disrupt the moment. She quietly pulled the door closed, enclosing herself in the dark closet.

“I still beat you, though. Swiped your sword from your hand,” he said proudly.

“But I don’t have any bruises, Gendry. How does that make you the winner?”

“Because I took your sword from you! If it had been real, you would have been dead.”

“And all the bruises you have would be gashes on your legs. You would have collapsed before you could manage to take my sword!”

“If it had been real, taking your sword wouldn’t be the only move I could make.”

She laughed, “I told you that you could hit me with the tourney sword! I can handle a few bruises.”

“And have rumors started that I enjoy beating my betrothed with a wooden sword? I don’t think so,” Prince Gendry replied. “What are we doing in here anyway?”

“Wanted to see if we could swipe any lemon cakes. I’m starving.”

Catelyn smiled to herself in the closet. They were falling for each other, in their own way.

At that moment, Marta came back from the barn, “Lady Arya, no lemon cakes until after dinner! You eat them all and I have none to serve Prince-”

Marta must have noticed that the Prince was standing in the kitchens, as well. She heard her apologize profusely and Arya and Prince Gendry laughing as they ran from the kitchens.

Marta came to the closet where Catelyn was hiding and screamed when she saw her, “Lady Catelyn! You scared me. Do you need something?”

“No, no. I was looking for a bottle of wine. I’m fine. Thank you, Marta,” she replied, brushing dust off her skirts.

Catelyn left the kitchen and the cook with her mouth agape. She had a feeling that in all old Marta’s years of working in the kitchens of Winterfell that she had never found the Lady of the castle hiding in the pantry before.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**10**

**GENDRY  
**

 

Gendry could no longer deny the feelings he was developing for Arya. He hated playing right into what everyone wanted from him, but he couldn’t help it. She was entirely frustrating, stubborn beyond belief. She acted nothing like a lady and spoke to him as she would to any other companion, high or low born. Yet, he found himself watching her and hanging on her every word.

They spent much of their time together, sometimes with her brothers and other times alone. She treated him with friendliness, with a brotherliness that worried him. Gendry felt uncomfortable being treated like her brother when he was expected to take her maidenhead in a short time.

_Gods, why did I have to go and think about that?_

He wasn’t sure when it started, but he dreamt of Arya nearly every night. It began innocent enough, kisses and embraces, but lately his Arya dreams were growing less and less proper. He found himself thinking of the dreams during the day and it was becoming increasingly hard when he spent time with her not to focus on the slight swell of her breasts or how perfectly plump her pink lips were.

The morning of his nineteenth name-day he awoke suddenly, jarred from the most pleasant dream. It was a dream that seemed to slip from him the more he tried to remember it. But he knew Arya was in it, given the state of his body.

Before he could properly wake or dress, three figures burst through his door. Gendry leapt up, startled.

“Why good morning, good Prince!” cried Theon.

“Yes, good morning and happy name-day,” added Robb.

His three friends stood there grinning.

“Best put your clothes on. Breakfast is waiting,” Jon chimed in.

Gendry dressed amid the sea of laughter and gayety. _I wish I could take these three to King’s Landing with me when I return. Or better yet, I would stay here._

They started down the stairs when they ran into Arya.

She smiled genuinely, “Good morning, Gendry.”

“Good morning, my lady,” he replied, justifying the tease as a name-day privilege.

She kicked him in the shins, “Just because it’s your name-day doesn’t mean you can call me ‘my lady.’”

He laughed and rubbed his leg. They all walked down to the dining room to break their fast.

Lady Stark had arranged for a bountiful breakfast this morning. Gendry’s mouth dropped when he saw a basket full of yellow berries on the table.

“Sunberries!” he exclaimed. “Where did you find these?”

Lady Stark smiled, “Your kitchen folks from the Red Keep sent them. They knew you must be missing them. Sunberries are unique to the Crownlands and are Prince Gendry’s favorite,” she explained to the rest of them.

He would have been happy with just the berries, but he doubted that was all that would be in store for him that day.

They all broke their fast and talked and laughed. It was like a raucous feast, but without the wine and the cover of night.

Theon, Robb, and Jon took him to the stables after they finished eating. He looked to Arya as they dragged him from the hall. She smiled and nodded, silently communicating that she’d see him later.

“King Robert sent a gift for you, Gendry, and I think you’re going to like it,” Robb informed him.

“I would prefer a gift in the form of a naughty maiden, but I suppose it isn’t a poor substitution,” Theon added.

Gendry laughed and let them lead him to the last stall in the stables. He saw a huge white destrier staring back at him. The horse was as white and bright as the blinding sun and as big as a mountain.

“She’s quite the warhorse,” Gendry commented. “My Father has given me a new horse every name-day since I was four. This is the first destrier, though. What shall I name her?”

“How about Naughty Maiden?” jested Theon.

“Snowfall,” Jon suggested. “She’s as pure and white as the first snow of winter.”

Gendry smiled, “That name will forever remind me of my time here in the North.”

“Snowfall it is,” Theon stated.

“What do you think I have to do to convince father to give me a horse like that?” Robb asked.

“Agree to one of his betrothals?” Gendry suggested with a grin.

“Well, I should get to know your horse, then. I won’t be seeing my own anytime soon.”

His three friends gave him gifts. Theon- a scandalous drawing of a half-naked, golden-haired woman, Robb- an obsidian dagger he had found in Winterfell’s store of ancient arms, and Jon- a book of the history of the Wall. He felt each gift indicated a great deal about the giver himself and he appreciated each present, just as he appreciated each of his friends.

They spent some time together, laughing and joking as they always did. It was about lunch time when they retreated into the castle. Gendry had been thinking of Arya all morning, wondering if she too had a gift for him.

_More like another kick in the shins or some more tourney sword bruises._

Just as he was thinking about her, she popped out of nowhere, stopping them in their tracks.

“Are you three fools done exchanging little presents? May I borrow our good Prince?” she asked.

He followed her outside, thinking that he would like to eat lunch before whatever it was she had planned. His curiosity kept him silent, however.

As he was walking behind her, back to the stables it seemed, he noticed she was wearing a bright white tunic, a black coat, and tan breeches.

_I wish she would wear something that revealed her true gender a little more. Always breeches and a tunic. I haven’t seen her in a gown since the night I arrived._

She stopped in front of him and he walked into her, lost in his thoughts of Arya Stark in a tight-fitting gown.

“Hey! Pay attention, you dolt!”

“Come on, I’m not a dolt on my name-day, am I?”

“You’re a dolt every day, Gendry,” she said, rolling her eyes.

He just laughed and followed her as she mounted her horse. He mounted his new destrier, which she was eyeing jealously.

“What’s her name?” she inquired.

“Snowfall, to remind me of my time in the North,” he replied.

“That’s a good name for a good horse.”

“What are we doing?” he asked, as he realized he had just been blindly following her.

“We are going on a ride. Follow me!”

With that, she kicked her horse and he went flying through the square, and out the gate.

He watched her for a moment, smiling to himself. _Wild beauty of the North._

He kicked his horse and followed her.

After riding hard for what felt like hours, she stopped her horse at a small stream. When he stopped alongside her, she threw him her reins and said, “Tie the horses and then meet me around that corner of that giant boulder over there.”

“Where are you going?” he asked, feeling stupid.

She didn’t say anything as she sprinted around the bolder and out of his sight.

_She is toying with me, setting me up for some joke. She’s been far too quiet about all of this._

He did as she asked, though, and tied the horses. He walked around the corner and was stunned. The scene was breath-taking. Amidst the stones, a small waterfall filled the stream that the horses were tied by. Arya had a blanket laid out on one of the larger stones, just in front of the fall. She was taking out cheese and bread from her bag, laying it out for them.

She looked up at him and grinned, “I knew you’d be hungry.”

Gendry nodded and started hopping the stones in the stream to reach her. He almost slipped twice and she laughed at him.

“We’re not all as tiny and lithe as you, my lady,” he called to her.

“Don’t start that or I’m going to have to throw one of these stones at your big, dull, head,” she retorted.

“It wouldn’t be the first time!” With that, he landed on her stone and sat beside her.

“Happy name-day,” she said, with an actual sweetness in her voice, not the usual feigned expression.

He lost himself for a moment in her face, framed by her dark, loose curls, her steely, grey eyes, her perfect, little nose, and her plump, pink lips. _I wonder what it would be like to feel those lips against my own or pressed to my neck, my hand in her hair. What a name-day gift that would be…_

“Are you alright? Gendry? Hello? Are you alright?”

He shook his head, waking from his day-dreaming, “Right, sorry, yeah. Thanks.”

“You look a little pale. Are you sure you’re feeling well?” she asked, her brow furrowed.

“Just hungry, I think. I’ll have some of that bread and cheese, if you don’t mind,” he said, sounding hesitant.

Arya continued to look at him as they ate their bread and cheese, her brow still furrowed, clearly attempting to determine the reason for his odd behavior. He tried to look anywhere but at her while he ate. He stared at the waterfall, up in the clouds, at his own boots.

_Control yourself, Gendry. You don’t want to go scaring her off when she’s being so bloody sweet. It’s just a picnic, that’s all._

“I have a gift for you,” Arya said, breaking the silence.

“Oh really?”

“Close your eyes,” she ordered.

“Why?”

“Because! Just do it!”

He laughed and closed his eyes. _Maybe she’ll be nude when I open them. No. Stop! Control yourself!_

“Okay, open.”

He opened his eyes and found that she still had all of her clothes on, regretfully. She did have a bronze helm in her hands, in the shape of a bull’s head. It was beautifully forged and the metal reflected the light from the Sun.

“Arya, it’s wonderful,” he said, taking it in his hands. “It’s really looks like a bull’s head.”

“You like it? Genuinely?” she said, timidly.

Gendry lifted his gaze from the helm to her face. She had a sweet smile splayed across her face, looking utterly pleased with herself.

“Of course,” he replied, as he tried the helm on. “How do I look?”

“Dashing!” she said, laughing.

He laughed with her, “Why a bull?”

“Well, I was thinking a stag, but then I thought long and hard about the animal that truly describes you. A bull’s head helm for a bull-headed man!” She was grinning mischievously.

“Oh I’m bull-headed, ay?”

“Yes, indeed you are! Stubborn and headstrong. Oh, and utterly annoying, too.”

“My lady, I’m truly sorry for any annoyance I have caused you,” he said phonily, standing and bending into a deep bow.

She knocked him on his helmed head and jumped up. “I am not your lady, Gendry. Best get that through your thick, bull skull!”

His ears were ringing from the sound her hit made on his helm. “Ow!” he yelled.

Laughing, she started to jump stones, running away.

He removed the helm and put it on the blanket before he started chasing her, grinning, too.

Arya had made it to the grassy area near the stream, when Gendry managed to catch up with her. She made an easy, joyful cry as she jumped onto a fallen tree that lay across the stream. She was so light, with such tiny feet that the thin log was able to support her. She balanced delicately, as she tried to tip toe to the other side.

When Gendry tried to follow suit, the log buckled. He was far heavier than Arya and not nearly as graceful. She stopped and looked at him, and yelled at him, laughing, “No, don’t! It’s going to collapse.” He took one more step and proved her correct. The log broke in the middle and they both went tumbling into the stream, screaming at the shock of the cold water on their skin.

“Seven Hells! It’s freezing! Look what you did!” she yelled at him, annoyed and amused at the same time.

He climbed out of the stream and onto the grassy shore. He extended his hand to her, to help her out of the water and she took it, to his surprise. Normally, she batted his hand away. He didn’t have time to dwell on what this might imply, because he was incredibly distracted by the sight of her.

Her coat was still on the blanket near the water fall, leaving her in the white tunic. It was soaked and clung to her skin. Gendry could see the shadow of her small clothes behind it and the top of the line dividing her breasts. The cold water had caused her nipples to harden and he could see them poking through her smallclothes. The curves of her hips were highlighted, as was her perfectly flat tummy. His eyes drank her vision and he couldn’t force himself to look away, no matter how loudly his head screamed to control himself.

It wasn’t until a few moments later when he realized she was looking at him, too. _Well she’s surely not gazing at me the way I am at her. She’s probably wondering why I’m so blatantly eyeing her body. It’s probably making her uncomfortable._

“Arya, I’m sorry,” he said, genuinely, having the decency to look at the ground.

“For what?” she asked earnestly.

“I… I forgot myself.”

“Gendry.”

He answered her, keeping his gaze on the ground. “Yes?”

“Gendry, look at me.”

He obeyed her and raised his eyes to hers. She was biting her lip and looking conflicted. He couldn’t help but drink in her beauty again.

“I’m sorry, Arya,” he said, forcing a smile. “Just being stupid again, you know my thick skull.”

“What are you thinking about? Truly.”

He hesitated, but dishonesty wouldn’t do him any good now, “Truly? I’m thinking about how lovely you are.”

Her lips curved upward into a small smile, “I thought you might be. You’ve been giving me that look a lot lately.”

“You’ve often been looking beautiful lately,” he explained.

She smiled wider and then suddenly frowned, as if remembering something, “I have a question.”

“Alright.”

“Well, you think I’m lovely and that’s grand. Truly it is.”

He nodded, confused at what she was trying to say. _Where is she going with this?_

“But lately, I’ve been wondering… I have so much fun with you and my brothers. I feel like you fit in perfectly, like you’re the fifth brother I never knew I had.”

Her words hit him like a ton of bricks. _Her brother… She thinks of me as her brother. Here I am, fantasizing about what’s underneath her tunic and she sees me in the same light as seven year-old Rickon. Gods… She doesn’t love me the way I love her. She doesn’t want to kiss me, never mind marry me. She thinks I’m her brother._

He turned away from her, pretending to be looking at the distant sun setting. Really, he didn’t want her to see the angry tears welled up in his eyes.

“But you’re not truly like my brothers,” she whispered.

He didn’t face her. He couldn’t bear it. He simply replied, “Oh?”

“No... I’m confused, Gendry.”

She sounded sad, almost as sad as he did. He turned around to look at her once again.

“What are you confused about?”

“I’ve never felt like this and I don’t know what it is. At first, I thought I was temporarily ill. You walked in the room and I felt my stomach turn, not like I ate something bad. A new, different feeling.”

He took a step closer to her, intrigued.

She continued, “I feel comfortable with you, like my brothers, but I feel nervous around you in a way that I don’t when I’m with them.”

_She feels it too! She doesn’t think of me as a brother. She’s just never been attracted to a man before. The only bonds with men she’s ever had have been her brothers or her father. She loves me. Gods, I think she loves me._

He was smiling slightly, despite his efforts not to.

“Are you… Are you laughing at me?” her mouth agape.

“No! Gods, no! Arya!”

She turned, as if to run away, but he leapt forward and grabbed her wrist. She tried to wrench it free, but for once, he used his strength to his advantage and held tight.

“Arya, look at me.”

“Why? So you can have another chuckle?”

“No, so I can tell you that I feel the same way.”

She snapped her head around, “What?”

He sighed, “I didn’t know if it was just me, making up a story in my head. I’ve really started to like you, Arya.”

“You like me?” she asked in a voice so quiet he almost didn’t hear her at all.

“Of course. I think…” he trailed off, gulping.

“You think what?”

He stared into her eyes for a moment, “I think I love you.”

His words hung in the air. He had never thought words could be described as heavy before.

Arya’s went wide. He couldn’t tell if it was fear, joy, shock, or a combination of the three.

He just stood there, staring at her, waiting for something to happen, for her to move towards him, to say something, to run away, anything. Now that it was out there, between them, he wasn’t nervous anymore. He felt his blood pumping through his veins like he had never noticed it before.

After a long while, she bit her lip and took a small step towards him. Looking up at him, she placed her hand on his arm, “I think I might, too.”

Despite his cold, wet clothes and the wind that blew around them, Gendry felt as though he was standing on the sun. He put his hand on her waist, and dipped his head towards hers. She responded by reaching her face towards his. Their lips met in a chaste, sweet kiss. Her lips were somehow better than he imagined, warm despite the cold around them.

_This is the best name-day I’ve ever had._


	11. Chapter 11

**11  
ARYA**

  
Arya still couldn’t believe what was happening. She was standing in Gendry’s arms, sopping wet from their fall in the stream. She felt happier than she would have ever imagined kissing a boy. A small part of her resisted, the wild child in her.

_He’s playing the prince and I’m playing the princess. Gods, I love kissing him, though._

Gendry was looking down at her, smiling, his blue eyes sparkling.

“You look happy,” she said, pointing out the obvious.

“You could say that. A kiss on my name-day. Not a bad one, all in all.”

She laughed and put her face against his chest. She felt so comfortable like this, pressed against him, his arms around her. She couldn’t imagine why they hadn’t done this before.

A particularly powerful breeze swept by them and they both shivered, suddenly remembering that they were actually quite freezing.

“I better get you back to the castle before you fall ill,” Gendry said, squeezing her tightly.

She rolled her eyes, “Oh, how chivalrous…”

He laughed and kissed her again. She liked the way he casually kissed her, like it was something he had always done.

“I could get used to that,” she said as they separated.

“Gods, I hope you do,” he replied, grinning.

They rode back to Winterfell, shivering, teeth chattering as the sun had dipped below the horizon and the night’s chill was upon them. They rode in silence, neither feeling the need to say anything, for once both totally aware of what the other was feeling.

A few days later, Arya woke in the morning with the light streaming into her room, disrupting a particularly nice dream. She and Gendry were down by the stream again, beside the waterfall, kissing. In her dream, Gendry had his tongue in her mouth and everything was hot and wet. She had seen a few common men and women doing that in dark alleys, when she was sneaking around in the shadows of Winter Town. She had never understood the appeal until Gendry kissed her. Even their chaste kisses seemed to have ignited something deeper in her. It excited her and scared her at the same time.

They had kissed a few other times, all quick, secret kisses when they were alone in empty hallways. She had not mustered the courage to try using her tongue and neither had Gendry it appeared.

After dressing and leaving her chambers, she found him waiting around the corner.

“Good morning, Arya,” he said with a grin.

“Well it was,” she replied, feigning annoyance and starting to walk down the stairs. He quickly followed behind her.

“You’re words are as cold as the North, my lady.”

She punched his arm, “I see you’ve taken to standing outside my chambers.”

“No, just this morning.”

“Oh I’m sure of it, Your Grace,” she said sarcastically.

He stopped her by grabbing her arm with enough force to surprise her, but not enough to hurt her, “You know I dislike that form of address, Arya.”

Her face broke into a mischievous smile, “What are you planning to do about that, Your Grace?”

“Shut you up,” he replied just before his mouth came crashing down on hers.

She took just a moment to get over her shock before she reacted to the intense kiss. He pulled her body close to his, his hands grasping her forearms. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she couldn’t help but remember her dream from this morning.

_Gods, this is amazing. I love the way his body feels pressed against mine and how his lips combine with mine. I want to feel his tongue exploring my mouth. If I open my lips a little, maybe he’ll realize what I want._

In between Gendry’s kisses, she let her lips fall apart, ever so slightly, barely conveying her message. She could see his brow furrow slightly, but he didn’t stop kissing her. He was thinking.

He must have received her message, however, because just as she thought about how dim he was, she felt his tongue reach her lip. He tentatively brushed her lips before she opened her lips wider, encouraging him further. His tongue swept inside her mouth, exploring and dancing with her own tongue. Arya couldn’t believe they hadn’t tried this sooner, just as she had felt when they kissed the first time.

She lost herself in his kisses, his embrace. His fingers were digging into her hip bones and hers were pulling his hair and massaging his scalp. They both forgot themselves and lost all sense of time.

Arya heard a faint plop in the distance. She didn’t want to, but she forced herself to pull back from Gendry. She turned her head and her eyes widened at the sight.

Theon and her older brothers were standing a few steps below them. The apple that one of them had been snacking on was on the ground, clearly dropped out of shock.

They all just stared at each other, no one offering any words. It felt like ages before Theon finally burst out laughing, Robb joining him after a moment.

Arya’s face darkened and Robb and Theon had enough sense to run. She saw red and sprinted after them, leaving Gendry still standing on the step with Jon.

They ran through the Great Hall, the kitchens, and the serving quarters. She didn’t know why she was so angry, but she was. It was a private moment. She felt violated.

The boys finally stopped and she could see them standing with their backs to her. “You bloody, sons of…” she trailed off when she reached them and saw her father standing beside them.

“Arya! What is the meaning of this?” he said, demanding more than asking.

Arya stood there, mouth agape, a blush spreading over her face.

“What is going on, Robb?” her father questioned further

“We uh… Well, you see, Father… Arya was…”

Theon interrupted, “Oh come on, spit it out, Robb. We stumbled upon His Royal Highness and Arya kissing on the steps.”

Arya shouted a string of expletives at Theon and attempted to lunge at him. Her father held the back of her shirt, barely exerting himself to hold her back.

“Is this true?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

Arya stood up straight, mustering whatever dignity she could, “Yes, Father. It is.”

Ned Stark didn’t say anything. He simply looked at his daughter, with an unreadable expression, “Robb, please find and escort Prince Gendry to my solar.”

Ned turned his back on the three of them and strode into his castle. Arya’s mind was racing too quickly to notice that Theon and Robb had crept away.

_Oh Gods, I’ve really done it now. Father’s going to kill him._

 


	12. Chapter 12

**12  
NED**

 

He stood in the corner of his solar, looking out the far window, wondering what to do about his daughter and her betrothed.

Ned Stark was not entirely shocked they had been caught in an embrace. Arya and Prince Gendry had been spending more and more time together. The glances they exchanged during meals and passing each other in the castle or out on the grounds were not lost on him. He had been young once and he knew what those glances meant.

It amused him that even when his daughter finally did the lady-like, proper thing and treated her betrothed with affection, she still managed to make the situation improper somehow. Ned believed that Arya wouldn’t be Arya if she wasn’t always doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

While he felt relieved that Arya and the Prince were clearly growing close, he was not pleased with their behavior. Arya, however improper and wild she may be, was still a Lord’s daughter and it was not suitable for her to be engaging in that behavior with a man before she married, especially not in Ned’s own castle.

There was a knock on the door and Robb entered with Prince Gendry.

“Father, Prince Gendry…” his son announced.

“Thank you, Robb. You may leave us.”

Robb nodded and made eye contact with the Prince, a look that said, “Good luck.” Ned was pleased by the growing bonds of brotherhood and friendship between his sons and the Prince. The boy seemed as though he had few true friends in King’s Landing.

Prince Gendry waited until Robb had exited the room before he spoke, “Lord Stark, I am deeply sorry for my impropriety with Arya earlier. It was not honorable of me and I will accept whatever punishment you see fit, but please do not think ill of her. It was my doing, you see.”

He raised his hand to stop the young man’s speech, “The day I believe that is the day I stop knowing my own daughter.” _Arya does what she wants, how she wants to do it. He may have made the first move, but Arya was right there with him. If she wasn’t, our Prince would surely be sporting a black eye and a wounded ego._

The boy simply sighed and nodded in response.

“I do not appreciate your behavior, Prince Gendry, especially in my own castle.”

“I’m sorry, my Lord.”

“I remind you that while you may be the King’s son and heir to all of Westeros and the Seven Kingdoms, you are a guest here at Winterfell and I am the Lord. I will not have you treat my daughter in that way, Prince Gendry. Are we clear?”

“Yes, my Lord. Of course. I assure you, as I assured Jon, it will not happen again,” he said quickly.

Ned wasn’t surprised that Jon had spoken to Prince Gendry before he had a chance to. Jon had always been so fiercely protective and fond of Arya. Yet, Ned had to give the young Prince some credit. He knew he was doing his best to intimidate Prince Gendry, but he did not cower or appear weak in any way. He apologized and asked for forgiveness, yet he stood straight and maintained eye contact with Ned. Prince Gendry was his father’s son in some ways, it would seem.

“Does this mean your stay at Winterfell has been successful, Your Grace?” Ned asked of the Prince.

“My Lord?” he replied, his brow furrowed, clearly confused by Ned’s question.

“You intended for Arya to want to marry you, did you not? Should I understand your recent transgressions as a confirmation of that?”

“Oh,” he replied, having been caught off his guard. “I’m not sure yet, my Lord. I… Well, I haven’t asked her yet.”

“I would get started on that sooner rather than later, Prince Gendry. If I hear word of any more of this behavior, I intend to call off the betrothal on principal. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, my Lord. I will address the matter this afternoon.”

Ned Stark nodded in response and did not comment on the matter further.

The Prince remained for a few moments, unsure if Ned was finished with him or if he was simply pausing before beginning another line of questioning. Ned purposely remained silent. He had no more to say to the young man, but he was enjoying Prince Gendry’s temporary confusion.

As the Prince finally moved to the door, Ned spoke, “Prince Gendry?”

“Yes, my Lord?”

“You might want to wait to broach the subject when her blood cools down.”

The Prince nodded, with a small smile, “I was thinking so, too, my Lord.”

As he exited the solar, Ned returned to gazing out his window, now with his own smile on his lips.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one short chapter to post this time. I'm re-working some things in the next few chapters, so that's why there's been a delay in posting new chapters. Just trying to make it the best it can be! Hope you enjoy:)

**13  
GENDRY**

 

Gendry left Lord Stark’s chamber feeling relieved. Ned made his message clear, however. Gendry and Arya were not to engage in that behavior again. Not at least until they wed.

_Gods, now I have to ask her if she’s changed her mind, if she wants to marry me. She must, she seems to love kissing. Kissing and marriage are not the same, though. Gods, I really don’t want to ask her. I really just want to kiss her like that all day._

He had been battling his own thoughts when Arya parted her lips for him, somehow settling the battle and naming the victor. It had been even better than he thought it would be.

Gendry had kissed girls before and it had been pleasurable. But it was always too wet or sloppy or wrong. With Arya it was as though their lips were designed to fit together. His tongue explored her mouth and danced around her tongue as if it was a choreographed routine. It felt so right.

Gendry avoided Arya the whole day, hiding out in his chambers. If he saw her, he would have to ask her if she wanted to marry him. He knew there was no way he could be alone with her and not kiss her perfect lips and run his hands through her soft, tangled hair.

He took his dinner in his chambers and went to bed early, resolving to ask her his question tomorrow.

_Gods I hope she says yes._

He drifted to sleep, praying to the Seven, and any other Gods that might exist, to please make her say yes.

Gendry awoke the next morning, feeling the sun on his face before he even opened his eyes. His dream that night featured Arya, as it had for the last five nights in a row. She had become the lead character in his dreams quite suddenly.

He had spent hours the night before thinking about broaching the subject of marriage with Arya. In the end, he decided to take her for a walk in the Godswood. It was a calming place and he knew that atmosphere would aid him in his conversation with his hot-headed betrothed.

She accepted his invitation for a stroll through the woods and they left after they broke their fast.

For a while, she complained about Robb, Jon, and Theon, bragged about how she bested Theon at swordplay a few days past and then about how she had successfully snuck past Old Marta in the kitchens and stole a whole tray of lemon cakes.

He let her talk, smiling and nodding the whole while. Truth be told, Gendry couldn’t focus. His hands had a slight tremor and he knew their next topic of conversation would change his life. The only question that remained would be if it was for the better or the worse.

Eventually, they sat themselves beneath a particularly large, leafy tree.

“Arya, there’s something I wish to discuss with you,” he said, his voice full of seriousness and intensity.

The shift in the atmosphere was almost palpable. In an instant, it had gone from a casual, lighthearted dialogue to something seemingly heavier.

She simply looked at him, raising her eyebrows.

_Just come out and say it, Gendry. Don’t be craven._

“I wondered if you had thought any further on our potential marriage,” he inquired, his eyes wide open, not wanting to miss any expression on her face during a blink.

She did not respond right away and she had an unreadable expression that made Gendry’s tremor slightly more severe.

“I wanted to ask you because well… I do not know your position on the matter.”

She sighed, “You really are stupid, Gendry.”

He started to say something before she cut him off.

“I thought you would be able to surmise by our various encounters over the past weeks that I had warmed to the subject,” she said with a slight smile.

“You mean it? Truly.”

She nodded, smiling wider. “I still won’t be a proper Princess, though!”

“Well, that much is certain,” he replied before taking her into his arms and kissing her deeply.

They separated, smiling at each other, arms wrapped around the other.

“Everyone will be so pleased,” he added.

Arya rolled her eyes. “I don’t care if anyone’s pleased except for you and I.”

He laughed. “I know, but I rather like the idea of the entire realm celebrating our match, thousands outside the Great Sept of Baelor, throwing roses from the rooftops and calling out our names.”

She separated from him, her face darkening.

He knew immediately that he had said something to upset her. “What is it, Arya?”

“The Great Sept of Baelor.”

“Yes? That’s where we’d wed, surely.”

“In King’s Landing,” she said, her eyes darting to his.

He realized she had forgotten they would need to move to King’s Landing, that they wouldn’t remain in Winterfell forever.

She admitted as much. “I… I forgot that we would leave for King’s Landing.”

He felt sorry for her. He would be returning to his childhood home, while she was ripped from hers. It was particularly unfair because he rather liked her childhood home more than his own.

“I’m sorry, Arya,” he said genuinely.

“I know. I know you are.” She rested her head on his shoulder. They just sat there for a long while, listening to the leaves rustle in the wind and the sounds of a brook nearby.

She finally picked her head up and looked at him. Her eyes were wet and she had clearly shed a few tears.

He didn’t know how to react. Gendry wasn’t used to seeing Arya vulnerable. He started to say something comforting, but she waved her hand and silenced him.

“Gendry, I love you. I think you’re wonderful and I’m happy to marry you, truly I am. I’m sad to leave Winterfell and my family, but I can do it and I will do it,” she said, a newfound strength in her voice.

“I can be your family,” he said sweetly.

She smiled, “That you can.” She kissed him sweetly on the lips and they remained in the Godswood, holding and kissing each other until the sun began to set in West.

 


	14. 14

**14  
ARYA**

 

The trip to King’s Landing took nearly a month. Arya complained frequently that the trip could have been done in less than three weeks, but they were traveling with a massive party. Many Northern lords and their families insisted on traveling South for what was being referred to as a wedding for the ages.

Gendry and Arya were afforded little time alone on their long trek. They managed to steal away for short moments, hurried kisses, and genuine laughs. She and Gendry rode beside each other much of the way, but there were literally hundreds of eyes on them at any given moment. Knights, ladies, and serving folk alike seemed to be highly interested in their relationship. At first it confused Arya, but she realized that she would soon be their Princess and eventually their Queen. It only made sense that they were interested in her and Gendry.

Arya could tell that her family was surprised how pleased she was with the arrangement. She had been so violently opposed to it and then so accepting. Her mother explained to her, “Love changes you, dear. Sometimes it’s even for the better.”

That annoyed Arya. _Love didn’t change me. Nothing changed me. I love him and he loves me, but we’re both still the same._

When they finally arrived in King’s Landing, Arya was shocked. It was dirty, crowded, and filled with strange smells. She was immediately aware of how Gendry grew to love Winterfell.

The King and a group of Lords and counselors greeted the Starks and the Northern host at the gates of the Red Keep. Gendry dismounted his horse, the destrier King Robert gave him for his name-day.

“I see your trip was successful, son,” King Robert said as he clapped Gendry on the shoulder.

Gendry nodded. “It’s good to see you, Father.”

The King grinned and shook hands with her father. “Seems as though that wild Northern princess of yours isn’t as wild as we thought, ay?”

Arya rolled her eyes. _Just because I happen to like his son and I’ve consented to the marriage doesn’t mean I’m not wild. I could just have easily decided to run away or refuse his hand._

The greetings and introductions continued with all of the people in their party. It was a long process and she was sure that she wouldn’t remember half of the Southron Lords’ and counselors’ names. When she was prompted to curtsy in front of King Robert, she pretended not to notice when King Robert’s blue eyes stared into hers a little too long and too intensely. It was easier than acknowledging how uncomfortable it made her.  

The two weeks Arya spent in the Red Keep before their wedding was not without enjoyment. Her sister, who arrived a few days after the Northern host did, was at first utterly exasperated that Arya wanted nothing to do with the wedding arrangements. Sansa then realized, however, that this gave her complete control over the plans. She had a seemingly endless budget and relished the opportunity to plan the party of the century. Arya’s only involvement in the process was to taste the food that was to be served and begrudgingly stand for gown fittings. With relatively little resistance, Arya was able to alter the design of the wedding gown to exclude a long train and a bustle. Sansa, her mother, and the other ladies readily accepted her design plans and Arya suspected it was because they feared she would want to get married in breeches and a tunic. Getting Arya in any gown would be a victory in their eyes most likely.

While her mother and Sansa planned her wedding, Arya spent time exploring the palace. The Red Keep was old and still had traces of the dragons and dragonmen that had lived there for hundreds and thousands of years.

To her disappointment, Gendry had less time to spend with Arya or her brothers and Theon now that they were in King’s Landing. He sat in on small council meetings in his father’s place, as he had done for four years. He received guests and visitors and planned for some of the logistics of the wedding. Gendry was careful, however, to set aside time for Arya. Each night, they would dine with her family, the King, and a few members of court and following dinner, they’d stroll around the Godswood. The woods were beautiful. She felt at home in the Godswood in a way she didn’t feel anywhere else in King’s Landing.

After living in the Red Keep for two weeks, it was the day of their wedding. She was surprised to find that her gown was white and silver. Even Arya knew that it was customary for the bride to wear the colors of her betrothed’s house, which were black and gold in her case. She didn’t question it, however, because she much preferred the colors of House Stark. They would always be her colors no matter who she married.

Sansa and her mother dressed her, gushing over her radiant beauty, of which Arya was still in denial. It was when Catelyn started to try and twist Arya’s hair into an elegant Southron style that the battle began. Arya refused to look like a little Southron princess. It was not her and it was not how Gendry saw her.

“Arya, it is customary for the Bride to wear her hair in the style of her husband’s land on her wedding day. I did it, Sansa did it,” she argued, as if what she and Sansa did would change her opinion. _I have been doing the opposite of what Sansa and you do for years. Why would I stop today?_

“Which is more important? Having tradition be happy with my hair or my husband?” Arya questioned, her arms crossed in front of her. “I happen to know for a fact that Gendry likes my hair when it’s hanging plain over my shoulders.”

Sansa huffed. “How do you know? You didn’t even know he wanted you in white and silver!”

“That was Gendry’s doing? Why?” Arya implored. She didn’t know that Gendry even knew anything about her gown.

Catelyn smiled and busied her hands with an open clasp on Arya’s gown. “He said he wanted you in the colors of winter. That you were no Southron, summer Princess. You were the Princess of the North, the Princess of Winter and you should be dressed such.”

Arya smiled to herself. “Well, considering I’m the Princess of Winter, I shouldn’t be wearing my hair in some summer style. I’ll wear it down and my Prince will be satisfied with that.”

Her mother agreed and told Sansa to hush when she protested, much to Arya’s pleasure. The youngest Stark Lady asked for a moment to herself before she had to leave for the Sept and her mother and sister excused themselves.

Arya stood in front of the mirror and looked at herself. She actually had to admit that she looked rather pretty. The gown was fitted at the top, white with silver fabric patterned on the sides. The gown flared out below her hips, but there was no poof or layers of underskirts like the gowns Sansa and her handmaidens had wanted to put her in. It was understated and comfortable. She rather liked it as far as gowns went.

She couldn’t believe this was happening to her, that she was suddenly the blushing bride, admiring herself in the mirror. She surprised herself in that she didn’t want to rebel or run away. The truth of it was that she felt happy. Arya didn’t care about a ceremony or a party, but she did care about Gendry. She loved him and wanted to be his wife. If she had to go through all the pomp to get to that point, then so be it.

Arya heard a knock on the door and called them in. It was her father and Jon Snow.

“Father! Jon!” she called out, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“The father walks his daughter to her betrothed. Surely you remember that from Sansa’s wedding, Arya? Or were you too busy scowling about your dress and powdered-face?” Jon quipped.

She picked up a brush and flung it at him.

“Arya, you are about to become Princess of the Seven Kingdoms and Westeros. Please don’t throw things at your brother,” her father chastised lovingly.

“Time to go, Arya. Off to Baelor’s Sept,” Jon added, merrily.

All three left the room and began walking to the Red Keep gate. They rode on horseback to Baelor’s Sept, as Arya refused to ride in a litter like a proper lady.

When they arrived, Jon went inside to take his seat, while Arya and Ned waited outside the massive oaken doors.

“You are happy, Arya. Aren’t you?” her father asked earnestly.

She nodded. “Yes, Father. I am.”

“That’s all I truly want, you know.”

“I know,” she said, smiling.

Her father looked down upon her, lovingly. “Are you ready?”

She gulped. “As ready as I’ll ever be, Father.”

He laughed and took her arm. The two walked down the aisle.

Her entire family was there, save for Rickon. “There must always be a Stark in Winterfell,” her Father said as they left. Rickon was not pleased about missing the ceremony, though. Her mother had given him a smack when he declared, “I wish I was Rickon Snow! Then, I would get to go to the party.” Arya sympathized with her young brother. She herself had wished to be a bastard, Jon’s bastard sister, on more than one occasion.

Sansa, Willas, and their gurgling babe were all smiling and looking up at her. Her sister mouthed, “I love you.” It was one of the first things Sansa had said in a while that didn’t annoy her to no end.

She gripped her father’s arm tightly. Hundreds of people were watching her, their new princess. Some were smiling, some were even crying. Arya couldn’t understand why someone who never knew her would cry at the sight of her. _Probably crying that Arya Horseface is marrying the Prince and not some beautiful, proper lady._

Her breath hitched once she neared the altar and could finally make out Gendry standing beside his father. She had never seen him look so handsome. His dark hair had been cut and no longer hung in his eyes like it had been those few weeks at Winterfell. He was clad in a black and gold doublet and breeches, simple, but beautifully made.

Arya’s nerves left her. She didn’t care about the others watching her. She didn’t care that she was wearing make-up and a gown. All she cared about was reaching the end of the aisle and standing beside Gendry. The two of them locked eyes and they didn’t look away from each other until she reached the end of the aisle and was standing before the King, Gendry, and the High Septon.

The King stepped forward and gave Arya a kiss. His eyes were sad and he smelled of wine and sweat. She expected he had already become drunk, despite it not even being mid-day. After the kiss, which Arya desperately wanted to end, it was time for Ned to pass her over to Gendry. She thought it was rather annoying that she was treated like an object, to be traded amongst men, but didn’t put up a fuss.

Ned gave his daughter a kiss on the cheek and passed her arm ceremoniously to Gendry and then he unceremoniously whispered something in Gendry’s ear. His smiled disappeared for a moment and he nodded quickly. As quickly as it disappeared, his smile re-appeared when he looked at Arya on his arm. She didn’t have time to be concerned about what her father said to him, because she was distracted by his bright blue eyes shining even more than usual.

The High Septon jabbered on about “the Gods,” “sacrament,” “forever,” and “the realm.” Arya couldn’t have cared less about what he was saying. All she could focus on was the heat radiating off Gendry’s body beside her. She was desperate to have him touch her. In a few minutes, all of their kisses and touching would be permissible. They would be customary. They would be expected.

Arya awoke from her day-dreaming when the High Septon instructed Gendry to don Arya in his cloak to cast his protection on her.

“As if I need your bloody protection,” she muttered to Gendry, loud enough so only he could hear.

He stifled a laugh and grinned at her as he fastened the cloak of black and gold over her shoulders.

It felt heavy and old. She felt suddenly reminded of the weight of the situation, that this wasn’t any afternoon. It was the afternoon she became a wife, became a Princess, and became a Baratheon. The idea didn’t infuriate her as much as it once had, but she would always be a Stark in her heart. No cloak or High Septon’s words could change that. Not even Gendry could change that.

They said their words and maintained eye contact the entire time. The High Septon announced they were wed, man and wife, Prince and Princess. Arya had no idea what was happening around her. All she saw was the High Septon nod to Gendry, giving him permission to kiss her.

She felt his lips touch hers and an electric shock passed through her body, urging her closer. Her arms naturally rested on his, and his hands settled at her waist. She had no idea how long they remained like that, locked in each other’s embrace. The small cough of the High Septon caused her to separate from him, as he clearly thought their kiss had lasted long enough.

The rest was a blur. Gendry and Arya walking down the aisle, family and friends reaching out and smiling, crying. Arya thought she saw a tearful expression on Robb’s face and even Theon seemed emotional. Her mother’s face was streaked with tears and her sister’s, too. She glanced at the King for a moment before she saw tears on his face, as well.

When they reached the doors, servants swung them open. After they strode through, Gendry spoke in a commanding voice to the servants and knights guarding the door, “Close the doors once again and do not open them until I command it.” They complied and shut the doors behind them.

They were finally alone. Gendry’s lips crashed down upon hers. She dug her fingers into his shoulders as he lifted her from the ground and rained kisses down her neck.

“God, Arya. I love you,” he said breathlessly.

She grinned. “I love you, too, but I’m bloody well pissed that you’ve turned me into a Princess, you know?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll do anything you command. If you only kiss me once more,” he replied, barely allowing his lips to leave her neck.

“Alright, once more,” she said smiling.

His lips crashed on hers once again and his tongue slipped into her mouth, dancing with hers, both seeking control.

She couldn’t believe how right it felt to be kissing this boy. No, this man. Her man. They would have stayed like that for hours had the doors not suddenly swung open again, a crowd gathered on the other side with King Robert in front.

“I commanded those doors be closed,” Gendry yelled as he separated from Arya.

“And I commanded them open, boy! Today was your wedding, not your coronation! Best remember that!” the King yelled back, a little louder and more bitter than necessary.

Arya interrupted, “I’m sorry, King Robert. We only wanted a moment alone together. You see this whole marriage process hasn’t allowed much time for that. We’re ready for the feast now, though. We can be alone later.”

“Aye, you can,” the King replied, darkly. “Go and greet the masses, Gendry. They have been waiting all day to see their new Princess. Best not start a riot on your wedding day.”

Gendry took Arya’s arm and they walked towards another set of giant oaken doors, on the opposite side of the hall. The servants rushed behind them to open them, but they waited for a command.

Gendry straightened his doublet and turned to Arya, his smile returning. He tucked a loose curl behind her ears. “Are you ready to greet your subjects, Princess?”

“Don’t call me Princess,” she replied quickly.

Several people in the hall laughed, Gendry being one of them. “Alright, are you ready or what?”

She nodded and he grinned back.

Gendry raised his hand and the servants swung the door open.

The noise that rushed through the doors shocked Arya. _How could those doors block out all of that sound? It sounds as if there are a thousand people, screaming at once._ She suspected that there were.

When the crowd noticed the doors were open, there was an eerie silence. Arya knew they were waiting, desperate for a glimpse at her, their new Princess.

She and Gendry stepped forward, walking onto the terrace and immediately the roar began again. They stood at the end of the balcony, waving at their subjects. Arya felt more comfortable than she thought she would have. They were happy and it made her happy, too.

“Do you hear that, Arya?” Gendry asked, looking at her, but continuing the waving.

“What are they saying?”

He didn’t reply, just pulled her in front of him, his arms wrapped around her. “Listen,” he whispered in her ear. It sent shivers down her spine, but she did. She listened for single voices calling out among the masses.

“Princess Arya! Her Grace! Princess Arya!”

Arya would never admit it, but the address did have a pleasant sound. Maybe she wouldn’t hate when others called her Princess, but not Gendry. He could only call her Arya, just Arya.


	15. 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's gonna get graphic, kids. Fair warning.

**15  
GENDRY**

The feast had been going on for hours. Gendry couldn’t understand why customs required a feast after a wedding.

_You should go straight to the bedding. Eliminate all of this business with feasting and dancing. If my father wouldn’t pitch a fit, I would get up and leave right now._

“You look rather displeased for a newlywed,” Arya quipped, as she ate her latest lemon cake.

“I am rather displeased. My new wife seems more interested in lemon cakes than she does in her new husband,” he answered smiling.

She laughed. “If you’d only eat one, you’d know why!”

He laughed, too. He reached out and held her hand. She ran her thumb lazily over the top of his hand as they continued conversing with their families and friends.  

Everyone was smiling it seemed, even his most surly guests and guards. He attributed that in part to the endless amount of wine and mead that seemed to be flowing around him.

Gendry’s eyes fell on his father, seated a few seats away from him. He did not look particularly cheery. He wasn’t quite frowning, but his lack of a smile stood out among the sea of grinning and laughter.

_He must be imagining me in his place, with Lyanna in place of Arya. It must pain him that I married such a likeness to her._

Gendry’s pity for his father was forgotten when someone finally called for the bedding ceremony. His eyes lit up.

_Finally! The bedding!_

Others took up the call and he saw his father stand and find a smile. He joined in those calling for the ceremony to begin.

He looked at Arya and noticed the color had drained from her face. He suddenly remembered the procedure of the bedding ceremony and knew how uncomfortable it was.

Gendry opened his mouth, ready to protest when Jon Snow came seemingly from nowhere and scooped Arya off the ground, her body slung over his shoulder. He sprinted from the hall, much to the displeasure of the hall. He was very thankful that Jon had acted so quickly. Gendry suspected that the only person who wanted to avoid that bedding ceremony more than Arya was her natural brother.

Since his attention had been diverted to Arya and Jon, he barely noticed the swarm of ladies rushing towards him. One particularly large woman, who he recognized as a Frey, had pushed past all the others and managed to get a fistful of his cloak. Gendry deftly unfastened it as he sprinted away. As the cloak fell from his shoulders, he heard his father shouting for him to come back. Thankfully, Ned Stark intervened before King Robert could call the guards on his son.

“Robert, let them be. You remember I unsheathed my sword to ward off the bedding ceremony at my wedding. Let us avoid that display and allow them their discretion.”

That was all Gendry heard as he ran down the hallway. After climbing the stairs leading to the area of the Keep where his chambers were located, he slowed down. There was no need to run any longer and he didn’t want to arrive winded. Arya would surely tease him.

When he rounded the corner of the hall, he found two guards at the door and Jon Snow waiting further down the hall.

“I see you escaped with all your clothes,” Jon said as Gendry neared him.

“I took a page from your book and decided to run for it.”

Jon laughed.

“Where is she?” Gendry asked, looking around.

“In your chambers.”

“Oh,” he replied dumbly. He was initially confused about Jon lingering to wait for Gendry to arrive when he remembered that this was the first night they would share a chamber. They were now husband and wife.

_Surely he doesn’t mean to stand guard outside our door! Oh Gods, I hope not._

Jon shuffled his feet and seemed to be particularly interested in something on the ground. It was a few seconds before he looked Gendry in the eye and spoke.

“Listen, you know I don’t have the first clue about… this,” Jon said, a pained expression on his face.

Gendry closed his eyes and groaned. He felt his face turning red. “Jon…” he started.

“No, let me finish. I’ve been working up the nerve and I’ve got to say it.”

Gendry sighed and waited for Jon’s surely awkward, embarrassing monologue.

“You’re a good man, a good mate. But, she’s my sister. She’s my favorite person in the world. I know you love her and she loves you and that’s grand, but don’t try and change her. Let her be herself and love her for who she is. That’s the only way… Just, treat her well. She’s special. She’s not just some lady,” Jon said, maintaining eye contact with Gendry. “And don’t forget what I told you that day we caught you two kissing on the steps. If you ever mistreat her or hurt her, I’ll see to it that you’re much worse off than she is. That includes tonight. Just… just be kind to her. Okay?”

Gendry exhaled. He felt hurt for a moment that Jon felt it necessary to say these things to him, his friend. He remembered how precious Arya was to Jon and realized that it was only natural for a brother to be protective of his sister. Gendry felt he might have had the same reaction if he had a sister.

“I swear on the Gods, old and new, that I will spend the rest of my days trying to make your sister as happy and safe as I possibly can, Jon,” Gendry swore solemnly. He added with a smile, “And I hope to have some fun with you both along the way.”

Jon smiled. “Good. Now, don’t keep her waiting any longer. We both know how short her patience is.”

Jon and Gendry parted and he walked to the door of his chambers, instructing the guards to stand at the end of the hall, not close to the other side of the door as was customary. They could protect the Prince and Princess just as well from there.

When he entered, he found Arya at the window. He watched her for a moment, unsure of what to do. Eventually, he walked over to her and stood behind her. He wrapped his arms across her and buried his face in her hair.

“Gendry…” she murmured.

“How are you feeling?”

“Okay. How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” he echoed.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m happy we can finally relax. We’ve been pulled in one thousand directions all day.”

“All week,” she corrected.

“True.”

She let her head fall back against his chest. “I like the view of the sea.”

“Yes, I do, too. There are larger chambers elsewhere but the view here keeps me satisfied. We can move wherever you deem fit, though.”

“Here suits me,” she said simply.

“What about here?” he asked suggestively, as he kissed her on the neck. He barely thought before he did it, guided by impulse.

She inhaled quickly, obviously surprised, but then exhaled slowly. “That suits me, too.”

He did it again and then kissed her cheek. “And here?”

“There, too.”

He kissed her lips. “How do your lips suit you?”

“I think the real question is how they suit you, Gendry.”

He laughed. “They suit me just fine.”

Her laughter joined his and she turned around to wrap her arms around his neck.

Soon they were kissing deeply, tongues slipping in and out of each other’s mouths. Gendry had his hands on her waist, one of his favorite places of her body. Her hands were still wrapped around his neck, scratching lightly. The feeling made him shudder slightly.

He felt himself harden against her leg and impulsively she took a few step back, surprised. Not a moment later, she blushed, probably realizing what the feeling was. His face was already deep red by then, embarrassed by the bodily reveal of his thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I… I didn’t… I was…”

“It’s alright. I didn’t mean to…”

She inhaled and exhaled deeply. “Obviously, I’ve never done this before.”

He nodded.

“Have you?” she asked timidly.

He wanted to lie, but he couldn’t, not to Arya. “Once, Arya. My father got me drunk on my fifteenth name-day and brought me to a brothel. I’m… I’m sorry.”

She looked slightly disappointed, but revealed none of it in her voice. “It’s alright. I didn’t expect for it to be your first time, as well.”

“I wish it was,” he said earnestly, truly wishing it was. The first time meant nothing to him, whereas this meant everything.

“I don’t,” she said quickly. “One of us needs to know what to do!”

He laughed and she laughed with him. He had worried that she would be enraged about the whore. She hated whores, but she accepted it and moved past it. It was a mature reaction.

Arya seemed to find some courage, though, when she walked over to him. “Can you untie my gown? It’s rather uncomfortable.”

His smile disappeared and his desire returned. He nodded and she turned away from him, sweeping her long curls over her shoulder.

His large fingers fumbled with each button and clasp. _Gods, why can’t they make these easier? I look like a bloody fool. I’m going to make a royal decree when I sit the Iron Throne: no clasps or buttons on any garments._

Finally he undid the last remaining clasp and watched the dress fall loose upon her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. She shrugged out of the gown and let it fall to the floor in a heap.

She was left standing her in small clothes, which were almost sheer. They weren’t quite sheer enough for him to make out her form underneath, but enough so to tease him into thinking if he just stared long enough, he would be able to see her body.

She was smiling and watching him, watching her.

“Arya… You’re…”

She laughed softly, “Thank you. I think.” She took a step toward him and ran her hands over his doublet, feeling for the tie in the back. She undid it nimbly, with her small fingers.

_Why isn’t she trembling like I am? Gods, I am a bloody fool._

He pulled the loosened doublet from his shoulders, leaving him a plain, white tunic and his black breeches.

Arya didn’t stop there, though. He felt her hands at his waist, pulling the tucked-in tunic in the band of his breeches. She pushed it up and he pulled it over his head, leaving him bare-chested.

She had her head tilted to the side and looked thoughtful.

“What?” he asked stupidly.

She smiled. “You have more muscles than I expected.”

He laughed, “Oh really?”

Arya nodded and started running her hands over his chest, her eyes wide and bright. Her fingers set his body aflame, feeling as though each touch injected wildfire in his veins. He grabbed her back tightly and drew her into him.

Their kisses were frenzied and somehow they ended up on the bed. Gendry couldn’t tell who was in control; it changed with each kiss. One kiss it would be Arya, the next it would be him.

He couldn’t believe how wonderful her skin felt on his hands. All of his previous anxiety was concentrated into pure desire. He felt he had never wanted anything so much as he wanted Arya that moment.

He pulled her top over her head and ran his hands along her sides as he gazed upon her. She squirmed slightly at the lingering gaze, but Gendry couldn’t look away from her yet. Her round, apple-sized breasts were perfect to him.

His eyes met hers as he ran his big, rough hands over her breasts, feeling how ideally they fit in his palm. She inhaled quickly and closed her eyes, tilting her head back ever so slightly in the most gorgeous way.

He kept his hands on her breasts as he began trailing kisses down her neck and shoulders. She gripped his back and was breathing in short, heavy breaths.

“You are gorgeous, my lady,” he whispered into her ear, feeling her shudder beneath him.

“Stop calling me ‘my lady,’” she said, still breathing heavily.

“Begging your pardon, Princess,” he replied, smiling into her hair.

“Oh shut up, you stupid bull-headed idiot!” she yelled out as she grasped his shoulders and kissed him deeply.

It was his turn to swoon when she reached down and tugged down his breeches. He helped her pull them the rest of the way off and discarded them on the floor with her gown. They were both now bare-chested and left only in their shorts.

Gendry ran his hands up her glorious legs as he continued to kiss and suck on a tender spot on her neck. He felt her trembling beneath him as he neared her sex. Biting her lower lip, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes.

He slowly pulled her smallclothes off, one inch at a time, kissing each bit of skin that he revealed. He was doing everything in his power to take things slowly and gently and ignore the loud voice in his head shouting for him to just rip the shorts off her body.

He heard her whimper quietly when his kisses reached the small nest of dark hair between her legs. He discarded her smallclothes on the ground, landing on the growing pile of forgotten clothing. His hands were shaking slightly when he started to slowly rub his fingers through her hair, sliding over her warm, wet folds.

Her quiet whimpers turned into moans when his thumb ran over the bundle of nerves above her opening. All the while, Gendry watched her, her eyes shut, hands twisting in the sheets. He thought he had never seen something so magical in his life.

He didn’t know how long they laid there, him by her side, teasing her and introducing her to new pleasures. It could have been a few minutes or hours. The two of them had lost all sense of time.

He prayed to the Gods old and new that they never had to leave this room.


	16. 16

**16  
ARYA**

Arya had no idea what was happening to her. She had never experienced anything like these feelings. It was as if Gendry had brought her up higher and higher and she was desperate for the fall, like she was waiting at the edge of a cliff for something to push her over the edge.

She was making the most ridiculous sounds, moaning and sighing and saying his name, but she couldn’t stop herself. It was as if these feelings had completely taken over her brain and all she could think about was what Gendry’s fingers were doing.

He started moving his fingers faster and she could feel something starting, what it was she had no idea. Her breath grew even more ragged and labored and she was calling out words unintentionally.

She grasped one of his shoulders. “Gendry… I-I… I need…” She didn’t know what she needed, but she was begging him for something, a release, to push her over the edge, to let her fall.

“Oh Arya,” he said, as his circular patterns got faster and faster.

All of the sudden, it happened. It was a burst of pleasure that shot through her veins. She arched her back and twisted in the sheets as she rode out the waves of bliss. She fell limp as the last wave passed, her eyes still closed and her breathing still heavy.

Gendry was stroking her hair and pressing light kisses to her temple. She opened her eyes slowly and kissed him on the lips.

“What was that?” she said, laughing lightly.

He smiled and continued stroking her hair, looking at her with a loving expression. “That, my wife, was you reaching your peak.”

“It was amazing. I loved it.”

“I could tell,” he replied cheekily.

She elbowed him, laughing.

“If I could stay in this bed with you forever, bringing you to peak, touching your bare skin, I would be in paradise,” he said in a dreamy voice as he laid his head back on the pillows.

“So would I. How did you get so good at that? Practice on many ladies?”

“None, Princess. I simply watched your reactions and followed my instincts. That was all the expertise I needed. I loved watching you feel such pleasure, Arya. Seeing you lost in bliss was enthralling. I intend to watch that all again soon.”

“I intend to let you. I also have a few other intentions, Gendry.”

Arya rolled over and on top of him, straddling him with her hands on either side of his head for support. Soon they were kissing again and Gendry’s hands had found Arya’s bottom, clutching her tightly. She felt his hardness against her thigh, only now it didn’t surprise her- it excited her.

She was breathing in his ear and she felt him shake slightly beneath her.

“Gods, Arya, I want you like nothing else,” he said hoarsely.

She experimentally rolled her hips against him and he inhaled sharply and clutched her bottom tighter. Intrigued, she did it again as she attended to a spot on his neck with her lips and teeth. In reaction, he pressed his hardness against her sex and they both inhaled deeply. They spent the next several minutes kissing and moving their lower bodies in unison. Arya felt electrified and she suspected Gendry did as well considering the way he was breathing and holding her tightly.

Suddenly he was flipping her over and positioning himself above her. She laughed and let her fingers trace invisible paths down his back. He was kissing her with such intensity that she could barely breathe. It was as if he needed her, as if his very being depended on it.

He ground his hips into hers and she felt the pleasure stirring inside her yet again. It felt so surprisingly good to feel his hardness so close to her sex. It was a physical reminder of his desire and it only increased hers.

Arya wanted to know what it would be like to feel his manhood outside his small clothes. She must have surprised him because when her fingers slid down his side and hooked in the waistband of his small clothes, he inhaled quickly. She tugged at his shorts and he helped her shimmy them off.

Her eyes went wide when she saw his manhood for the first time. For a moment, she reconsidered her eagerness to consummate their marriage. _It’s big, bigger than I would have thought._ She could not help but feel nervous about allowing Gendry to take her maidenhead. She heard that it was painful and that she would bleed, but Arya knew he would be gentle with her and that he would not cause her any unnecessary pain.

Gendry must have sensed her anxiety because he pressed his lips to her forehead sweetly.

“Arya, I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said quietly.

“Something pressing against my thigh would suggest otherwise,” she managed to say in a casual voice.

He didn’t laugh. “Arya, I’m serious.”

“It’s our wedding night. You’re supposed to claim your husbandly right and take my maidenhead.”

“And when have you ever cared about following tradition?”

She shrugged and kissed him on the lips.

He broke away from her kiss and rolled off of her. He had an unreadable expression, but he seemed set on talking about this. “It’s a lot to handle at once. I understand. It’s unreasonable that tradition expects you to go from chaste kisses to making love in a matter of hours. We could take our time, take things slow. I’m not disappointed, Arya, truly. I can wait. We can… We can do other things.”

Arya saw the truth in his eyes and she knew he meant it. She knew he loved her so much that he put her feelings above his own. That thought made her feel warm inside and caused her to forget her fear and her anxiety. She took his face in her hands and looked into his clear, blue eyes

“Gendry, I want to,” she said simply.

He didn’t say anything. He just watched her carefully. It was almost as if she could hear the wheels turning in his head.

“Make love to me, Gendry.”

It seemed as though that phrase had convinced him. He leaned in for a kiss and she grabbed him by the neck and pulled him closer to deepen it. She felt him kissing her neck and her chest, even her breasts and her nipples. She was gasping for air by the time his kisses made their way to her hips. He ran a finger through the hair above her sex and slowly swept across her folds. She wanted to ask him what he was doing, that she wanted him to make love to her, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything, not when he was touching her that way.

Suddenly she felt something strange when she realized Gendry was pushing one of his fingers inside of her. She gasped and he looked up at her, eyes wide. Neither of them said anything. Gendry gave her a small nod as he continued to push his finger inside her.

Arya got over the initial shock and found the feeling odd, but pleasurable. When Gendry added a second finger, she made a noise that was part gasp and part sigh. He looked up at her, but she gave him an assuring nod and he continued to explore her with his fingers.

After a few more moments of Gendry pumping his fingers in and out of her, he stopped and balanced above her, resting his weight on his forearms. He began kissing her, starting out slowly, but then growing in intensity. Arya decided that he had ample opportunity to explore her body and that she had barely become acquainted with his. She carefully reached her hand down and took his manhood in her small hand. Gendry closed his eyes and sighed before kissing her again.

Arya began to slide her hand up and down his manhood slowly. It must have pleased him because he groaned and buried his head in her hair. She began to move her hand faster to see how he would react. His groans and whispers of her name indicated that she was doing something right.

After a few moments, he put his hand on hers and stopped her. He was breathing heavily and Arya was confused.

“I won’t last much longer if you keep that up,” he whispered into her ear. Arya smiled and kissed him on the lips.

Gendry re-positioned himself above her, his manhood near her entrance. He made eye contact with her, silently seeking permission one last time. She gave him a slight smile. He accepted this to be her way of telling him to continue.

Gendry used his knee to spread Arya’s legs wider and gulped. Propped up on his forearms, he began to push his manhood in her entrance, slowly and steadily.

Arya noticed that he was trembling slightly, but she was having a hard time focusing on anything but the pressure she felt inside of her. It felt uncomfortable, as if she was being stretched and filled in a strange way. She was doing a good job of not crying out because of the pain and kept her breathing as steady as possible.

Suddenly, Gendry stopped pushing into her, as if he could go no further. Breathing heavily, he pulled back slightly and then thrust forward. Arya felt an intense sting and couldn’t help the cry that escaped her lips. She knew that her maidenhead was broken and it definitely hurt.

He was breathing heavily, but he kept eye-contact. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I can stop. We can stop.”

Arya shook her head and said in spite of the pain. “It’s okay. Keep going.”

Gendry pressed small kisses all over her face as he pulled back and pushed forward again. It was still painful, stinging like an open wound.

He gently and slowly kept thrusting inside her, kissing her sweetly and whispering in her ear. He wiped the tears that fell from her eyes even though she willed herself not to cry. She knew it must be hard for him to go so slowly. He was gripping the sheets tightly, his fists clenched. It made her appreciate his pace all the more.

After a minute or two, the stinging pain receded. It was by no means pleasurable, but she no longer needed to force herself not to cry. She began kissing Gendry back and held on to his back, rubbing circular patterns on his shoulder blades.

She heard him groan into her hair and whisper her name. He then thrust hard into her a few times before collapsing on top of her, his breath labored and his eyes closed.

Arya was rubbing his head and playing with his hair between her fingers. They lay like that for a moment, him still inside her, trying to catch his breath. After a few moments, he rolled off of her and fell to her side.

“Oh Arya…” he said, his eyes still closed.

“Was it… was it alright?” she asked tentatively. She knew she didn’t do much but lay there, but it had been painful and she couldn’t will herself to do anything else.

“It was bloody brilliant,” he sighed, a small smile on his lips. Suddenly he sat up, propped on his elbow facing her as if suddenly remembering something. “Arya, are you hurt? I’m so sorry… I know it must have hurt…”

She couldn’t help but smile when she noticed the genuine concern in his eyes. “It’s alright. I’m alright.”

Gendry ran his fingers through her hair. “I tried to be as gentle as I could. I’m sorry it still hurt you.”

“It has to hurt the first time,” she said matter-of-factly.

Gendry pulled back the covers of the bed and inhaled quickly. Arya looked down to see her thighs covered in his seed and some blood.

“Oh Gods… That’s foul,” she said, laughing lightly.

Shaking his head, Gendry got up from the bed and walked across the room to a bowl with water and a cloth. He wet the cloth and came back to the bed. He tenderly wiped the mess off her legs.

The sight of his seed caused Arya to think on the implications of their acts. _If his seed takes root, I’ll grow with child. I can hardly take care of myself, never mind a husband and a babe. This is happening too fast. I’m not ready to be a mother. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to be a mother._ She grew panicky as Gendry continued to clean her off.

He looked up at her and noticed the anxious expression on her face. “What’s wrong? Does it hurt?”

“No, no,” she replied quickly. “Thank you for that. I… I was just thinking about the consequences of… lying with you.”

He smiled in spite of his clear confusion. “And what might they be?”

“Well… You’ve planted your seed…” she said, nervously pulling at a string on the pillowcase.

Gendry’s eyes widened momentarily before he got up to return the rag to the water bowl. He pulled on his small clothes and handed Arya’s to her, assuming she wished to do the same.

As Arya pulled on her small clothes, Gendry broke his silence. “I hadn’t thought much on that…”

“No, nor had I.”

“That would be quite the event… In one year’s time, the realm will have gained a Princess and an heir to the Iron throne,” he said, his eyes focused on the ground.

“It would be a lot for us, too,” Arya said, desperately seeking some sense of his opinion.

He nodded, still staring down the ground.

“Perhaps…” she trailed off.

“Perhaps what?” he said quickly.

Arya bit her bottom lip. “Perhaps we could wait?”

“Wait? To have a child?”

Arya nodded slowly. “I’d like to travel. I’d like to see Dorne and Storm’s End. I could hardly do that if I was large with child.”

Gendry’s face smiled slightly. “You’re right. That’s just what we’ll do. We’ll wait.”

“We will?” Arya said, fighting a grin.

“We will. I want some time to enjoy my wife and my new life before all your time is consumed by a squalling babe,” he quipped, jumping back into bed with her.

“Oh sure, because I seem the type to go all moon-eyed over a bundle of pink noise,” she replied, rolling her eyes.

Gendry hugged her close and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll arrange for you to get some moon tea in the morning. Discretely, of course.”

She couldn’t believe how happy she felt. She had a husband who she loved, who made her feel such intense pleasure. Even though she felt she shouldn’t be, she was surprised by his agreeing to wait to have a child. She knew how important it was to his father and to the realm itself. Yet, he agreed to wait all the same.

_Perhaps being a wife isn’t so terrible. At least, being Gendry’s wife doesn’t seem to be._

Wrapped in a tight embrace, the pair drifted into a sound, deep sleep.


	17. 17

**17  
ROBERT**

Gendry and Arya announced their intention to travel the realm the next day at court. King Robert was in a foul mood and their announcement hardly improved it.

The girl’s handmaiden brought the bloodied sheet to his solar that morning, to assure him of the validity of the union. He waved her away, along with his other attendants. Sitting on his balcony, already emptying his first flagon of wine, he could not help but think of his sweet, beautiful Lyanna. Lately he felt as if he was losing Lyanna all over again, but this time instead of bloody Rhaegar Targaryen, it was his own son stealing her away from him.

Robert had refused every single marriage presented to him for the last eighteen years. Lyanna was the one he would marry and if he could not marry her, he would marry no one at all. Tywin Lannister had all but started a second rebellion when Robert refused to wed Cersei, his only daughter. Robert had been tempted, though. Even when she had been half a child at fourteen years old, she was a vision of beauty, all golden curls and soft curves. He remained undecided for a moon’s turn and was beginning to sway toward agreeing to the marriage. That was until his name-day feast. At the feast, Cersei was presented to him for the first time formally and he looked into her eyes. For a flash of a moment, her green eyes turned gray and it shook Robert to the core. He knew in that moment he would not take Cersei as a wife and he would take no other.

Robert and his council did as best he could to patch the relationship between the Lannisters and the crown. He had arranged for another marriage for Cersei, which her father accepted begrudgingly. Even almost twenty years later, their relations were tenuous at best. Robert was confident that should a legitimate rebellion rise up against his rule, the Lannisters would be fighting on the side of the new Usuper. Tywin was not so dimwitted to start a rebellion on his own, however. For that, Robert was grateful.

At court, he noticed the smiles and glances exchanged by his son and the wolf princess. Robert found himself drinking a cup of wine for every smile and the result was that he was drunk before his mid-day meal.

Much to the dismay of some of his counselors, Robert accepted his son’s request to travel. They hardly felt it appropriate for Robert’s only heir and new bride to be gallivanting across the realm. Gendry and Arya should be kept close to the Red Keep, remaining safe and presenting him with Gendry’s heir. Robert agreed and if Arya hadn’t been Lyanna’s living ghost to him, he would have forbid it. Ever since the Stark princess had arrived in King’s Landing, his thoughts of her aunt tormented him. He was dreaming of her every night again, mostly nightmares in which he came so close to saving her only to lose her at the last moment.

His Kingsguard escorted him to his solar for the afternoon, leaving the small council and his son to handle the rest of the affairs for the day. They were better rulers than he, anyway.

He waved his hand at his attendants to leave him. His squire, a young Tarly boy, tried to sneak out with his flagon of wine. Robert may have been drunk, old, and fat, but he wasn’t blind or stupid.

“Boy, leave the wine,” he called out.

The boy hesitated. “Your Grace, I noticed you’re not well. I thought I’d replace this flagon with some lemon water.”

“It’s you who’ll find yourself unwell if you try to take off with that flagon, boy!” he barked.

“Of course, Your Grace. Anything, Your Grace,” he sputtered as he placed it on the table, kneeling in front of Robert.

Robert gave him a kick and shouted for him to leave. The boy practically ran from the room, slamming the door behind him as he left.

The King took his flagon and a goblet out to the balcony. He stood at the ledge, looking at the famed King’s Landing.

_I should be in the Storm Lands, not in this Gods-forsaken city that reeks of shit and piss no matter how many times I order the streets cleaned. I shouldn’t be here. I should be Lord of the Storm’s End with my Lady Lyanna and our babes with black hair and grey eyes._

Robert closed his eyes and tried not to think of her, but it was no use. She was waiting behind his eye lids, her dark brown hair swirling around her and her grey eyes shining through. He took a long gulp from the flagon of Arbor Gold and tossed it to the ground. Looking down to the ground below, his mind went to a familiar thought that he often found himself in when he was drunk and alone in his chambers.

_I could throw myself from this tower and be dead the second I hit the ground. I could be done with it all, leave it all to the boy. He’ll be a better king than I ever was anyway. I could end this wretched life and finally feel at peace. I could be with Lyanna…_

Every time his mind went to this place, he dreamed of seeing her again, spending an eternity together in the Heavens with no kingdom to rule. But, every time, Robert would remember that his beautiful, lively Lyanna would never end up in the same afterlife as he. Robert had killed and stolen a kingdom. He ruled it poorly and treated his son even poorer. It was foolish to think he would end up in the same afterlife as Lyanna. While she rode her horse with blue flowers in her hair in the Heavens, he would burn in the pits of Seven Hells.

Robert knew that living or dead, he would never see Lyanna Stark again.


	18. 18

**18  
GENDRY**

Gendry had never felt so happy in his life, seeing the different lands in Westeros with Arya by his side. He had never loved a living person as fiercely as he loved Arya. Even when she was being utterly impossible and annoying, he loved her all the same.

They first started South to the Stormlands to visit his Uncle Renly. Gendry had always liked Renly the most out of the three Baratheon brothers. Renly was the most amiable and he always had a sweet or a story for Gendry when he was a boy. Renly split his time between the capital and Storm’s End. The King was always barking at Renly to stay in the Stormlands and serve as the proper Lord, but Renly was quick to assure his brother that Cortnay Penrose governed the land far better than Renly himself. Gendry could tell that Arya liked Renly, too. They spent three more days than they planned in the Stormlands at her request.

Gendry and Arya were accompanied by a small host of guards, which Arya had fought fervently against.

“We can take care of ourselves! I don’t need some knight following me around all day. If I wanted that, we could have just stayed in the capital!” she shouted at him in their first fight as a married couple. It would most likely not be their last either.

Both their fathers were unyielding on the presence of a guard, but Gendry was able to argue it down to a few men, one of them being Jon Snow, Arya’s natural brother. Having Jon with them made Arya forgive Gendry yielding to the demands of the King and her Lord father.

After Storm’s End, they rode south to Dorne. Gendry had been before, but Arya had never seen the summer land, with its beautiful sea and sand. They were honored guests of Prince Doran Martell, whose gout had left him a sore sight. He left them alone mostly and they had free reign over his castle and lands.

On their third night in Dorne, Gendry awoke to Arya shaking him.

He shot up. “What? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, you idiot,” she laughed. “It’s almost sun-rise.”

“Why are you waking me then? I have hours more to sleep,” he groaned, lying back down.

“I want to see the sun rise in the sand hills.”

Gendry rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. “Arya, I’m tired. You had me up half the night as it is.”

“Oh, don’t act like that was all for my benefit. ‘Oh, Arya! Yes! Arya! Yes!’ You seemed to be enjoying yourself just fine,” she replied, with her smug grin.

Gendry rolled on top of her and crushed her under his weight.

“You giant, stupid bull! Get off of me! You’re going to crush me to death!” she yelled, but he could hear the laughter in her voice.

He obliged and rolled off of her with his own smug grin.

She smacked him in the chest. “Just because you’re bigger than me doesn’t mean a thing, Gendry.”

He nodded lazily. “Whatever you say Arya darling.”

She rolled her eyes and got out of the bed. “Are you coming or not? I intend to sneak past our guards and I know how you hate for me to travel alone.”

Gendry groaned and got up, pulling on whatever clothes he found on the floor, his eyes still heavy with sleep. This was one of those times when she was annoying him, yet he loved her all the more for it.

They snuck out of the palace and led their horses to the gate. The guards let them by without question. They rode fast to the place they had been yesterday, the great sand hills of Dorne. Some call them “dunes.” The giant hills made of sand sat high above where the shore meets the sea. In the wind, the sand blows and shifts and on particularly windy days, hills wane and wax like the moon in its cycles.

The sky had turned a shade of light blue and the stars were becoming hard to see, a sign that the sun was soon to appear on the horizon.

Arya continued to trot her horse through the sand, searching for the perfect spot to watch the sun rise. Gendry followed her without question. It was easier that way.

Eventually Arya found a spot that seemed to suit her and she hopped down from her horse. Gendry did the same. She grabbed the reigns of his destrier and tied them both to a skinny little tree a few yards away. The tree was so skinny that if the horses had wanted to escape their owners, they could easily pull the tree with them. Their horses, however, were loyal to their riders and seemed perfectly content to stand and wait.

Gendry stood at the edge of one of the hills and felt himself sinking and wobbling in the sand. He removed his boots to get better footing and feel the sand squish between his toes. When Arya approached, she did the same.

They spread their cloaks beside each other and sat down. Gendry shifted closer to her and put his arm around her waist. She rested her head on his shoulder as they watched the horizon in silence. He enjoyed that she was as comfortable as he was with silence sometimes.

The sky began to change colors quickly, going from the pale blue of dawn to a brilliant purple and pink. When the sky looked orange, he spotted the ball of fire peeking over the horizon line, a giant round light growing larger every second. He had to admit that the sight was worth being woken up so early.

As the sun rose in the sky, he looked down at Arya, a small smile on her face.

“Beautiful,” he said simply.

She looked up at him. “Me or the sunrise?”

“Oh, the sunrise, of course, m’lady.”

She elbowed him in the chest for the tease and the use of her least favorite address.

“Princess,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him and rolled her eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

“Has it really been so terrible?”

“No, not yet.”

Gendry sighed and turned his head back to the horizon. The sun was high in the sky now, the day begun.

Arya yawned and made a movement to escape his embrace. Gendry held her tighter, refusing to let her go and she laughed.

He leaned down and pressed a sweet kiss to her lips. She responded by wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him again.

“I love you, Arya Stark,” he told her, separating from her for a moment.

“I love you, too. Now kiss me again, please,” she replied with a smirk. He obliged, enjoying the fact she said please. That was a somewhat infrequent occurrence.

As they kissed in the sand, Gendry could feel his desire for his young wife growing. She had an effect on him that he could not describe. She was more than he ever imagined and yet he found himself wanting more and more every day.

Gendry felt her small hands pulling his tunic up off his body. He didn’t stop her from pulling it over his head, but he felt the need to warn her they could easily be caught.

“Arya… Anyone could walk by.”

“So?” she replied cheekily before she pulled her own tunic over her head.

Whatever argument he planned on vocalizing drowned in his throat when he saw she was now bare chested before him. He pulled her close to him, needing to feel their chests pressed against each other.

As Gendry placed wet kisses all over her body, she told him quietly, “See? I knew I could convince you. You’re incredibly easy to manipulate, Gendry.”

He didn’t respond, but her teases were replaced with gasps and sighs when he put his mouth around her breast and began to lick her nipple.

The pair made love in the sand, out in the open, not caring who or what could come across them. It pleased Gendry to no end that Arya now enjoyed their love-making as much as he did. A few times after their first time together on their wedding night were still painful and uncomfortable for Arya. He felt guilty taking such pleasure in something that hurt her, but she always assured him that she wanted to continue. She knew that eventually it would cease to be uncomfortable and she would take the same pleasure in the act as he did every time. She was right and now when they made love it was the greatest feeling in the world. It amazed him how much better making love to Arya felt when she was enjoying it, too. The best times for both of them were when they reached their peak together.

As they lay breathless on their sand-covered cloak, Gendry began to stroke Arya’s hair and hold her close to him. She nuzzled his neck and pressed light kisses to his cheeks. The calm and peace that came after their love-making was almost as good as the act itself. Gendry felt as if there was nothing to worry about in the world. He would forget that anything else but Arya even existed.

After some time, they began to dress and head back to the palace.

“Don’t let me forget my moon tea when we get back,” she said as she jumped up onto her horse. Arya had been very careful about drinking her moon tea. One of the Maesters in King’s Landing, who was sworn to secrecy, told Gendry and Arya that she need only drink moon tea the morning after they laid together. If she should forget but one time, it was possible that she could grow with child, even if she drank it the next morning. Gendry happily observed that Arya was beginning to need to drink moon tea every single morning. It was a pattern that he hoped to continue for some time.


	19. 19

**19  
CATELYN**

Catelyn Stark missed her daughters dearly. As much as their fighting vexed her, she felt Winterfell was far too quiet without her charming, sweet Sansa and her wild, effervescent Arya. She was the only Stark lady in the castle for the first time in almost eighteen years.

Her sons kept her busy enough—Rickon running wild around the castle, Bran and his penchant for climbing, and Robb being utterly impossible when it came it a betrothal.

She felt that Ned was far too permissive with their oldest son and his refusal of every young lady they presented him with. Then again she felt Ned was too permissive with all of their children. Catelyn had been raised a Tully, whose words perfectly summed up her philosophy. _Family. Duty. Honor._

Ned encouraged his children to do whatever it was that made them happy. It wasn’t that Catelyn didn’t wish for her children’s happiness. It was just that the activities that seemed to make her children happy were almost always improper, dangerous, or both. It seemed to be that Sansa was her only child who was truly happy following rules and traditions, growing up to be the perfect high-born lady.

Catelyn received a raven from her brother, Edmure, that their father was ill and growing weaker and weaker every day. He did not outwardly ask for Catelyn to come to Riverrun, but she knew he wanted her there. Edmure was not one for sitting at their father’s bedside, quietly comforting and soothing him.

She knew she should not go. Her duty and her family were in Winterfell. She was the Lady of the castle and kept all of the daily operations running. Her sons, her people, and her husband needed her in the North. A few days after receiving the raven, however, she could not shake the feeling that she needed to see her father one last time, to provide comfort and solace to him in his greatest time of need.

Ned asked her if she would ride to Riverrun when she initially received the raven. She refused, saying, “Not even the most experienced Maester can predict how long these things last. It could be days, but it could be months, too.”

With every passing day, Catelyn felt more and more drawn to Riverrun. She was so frequently thinking of her father, brother, and her childhood home that it began to affect her duties at Winterfell. She was missing the small details that she had always taken pride in being able to keep straight. It was driving her crazy.

One night, as they were getting ready for bed, Ned broached the subject a second time.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to Riverrun, Cat? I can’t help but feel you want to be there, that you need to be there,” he said.

“Ned, I’m needed here!” she argued, even though she desperately wanted to go. _Family. Duty. Honor._

“You are,” he assured her. “Gods know that this place runs smoother with you here. I just keep getting the feeling that you want to go.”

“Of course I want to go, but my duty is in Winterfell,” she said, unconsciously standing a little straighter and taller.

Ned sighed and sat on the bed. “Catelyn, I know what it is to lose a father. Granted my circumstance was quite different, but I still think about what I would have said to him the last time I saw him if I had known. I think you should go to him and say goodbye. He needs you and you need him one last time.”

Catelyn was surprised he brought up his own father. Even twenty years later, she could count the number of times Ned independently brought up the subject of his father’s and brother’s deaths on one hand. She sat on the bed beside him and let her head fall to his shoulder. It was then that she finally let the tears fall. They were silent tears, though. Even in sorrow, she was a proper lady.

Ned stroked her hair and held her close. She felt like a young girl again, crying and missing her family and her true home.

The next day Catelyn and a small group of guards rode south for Riverrun. It took a week, but when they got there, the look of relief on Edmure’s face was worth all the hard riding. She sat by her father’s side for days on end. Sometimes she read to him or recounted stories from her childhood, but mostly she simply sat beside him to make him feel less alone. He scarcely spoke in coherent sentences and while it pained her to see her father lingering in such agony and delirium, she could not imagine being anywhere else.

Arya, Gendry, and their traveling party spent a few weeks’ time in Riverrun. It was wonderful to see her daughter, who seemed to have become more mature in a matter of a few months than she had in all her fifteen years before meeting Prince Gendry Baratheon. Having celebrated a nameday during their travels, her youngest daughter was now sixteen years old and a woman grown.

Catelyn found she rather liked the young prince. He was all the best parts of Robert and he loved her daughter fiercely. The way his eyes followed her in a room was the only evidence she needed. It was the epitome of pure, all-consuming young love.

They left and rode North up the Kingsroad. Arya mentioned more than a few times how excited she was to go back to Winterfell and see her brothers, save for Jon Snow who accompanied her on their expedition. No matter how hard she tried, Catelyn was never able to look upon Jon as anything other than the product of her husband’s one infidelity. To this day, it surprised her that someone as loyal and noble as her husband could father a bastard. Sometimes she hated herself for hating the boy, but most of all, she just hated Jon Snow. She hated how he looked like more of a Northman than her own sons and she hated how Ned treated Robb and him as equals. Over the years, more than one visiting knight or lord mistook Jon Snow for her son, but she was always quick to distance herself from the boy.

It was just two days after Arya and Gendry departed that she received a raven that changed everything. She immediately sent a raven to Lord Jason Mallister of Seaguard, imploring him to intercept their party and send them back to Riverrun. She kept the reason a secret, but alluded to the fact that Lord Hoster was very ill. She knew that the true information should be shared with Gendry and her daughter before it spread around the kingdom like wildfire.

Just a day and a half later, she saw their riding party approaching from the distance. She had been watching from her window all afternoon, dreading having to be the one to share the news. She sat in a chair in the corner and reread the contents of the short note from Lord Arryn, Robert’s Hand of the King and her goodbrother.

 _Lady Stark,_  
I have no time for courtesies or well wishes, but I truly hope this letter finds you and your father well. If Prince Gendry and Princess Arya are in Riverrun, please send them back to King’s Landing as quickly as possible. The King suffered an accident with a wild boar on a hunt a few days past. His wounds do not seem to be healing and Maester Pycelle fears his passing is imminent. If the Prince and Princess are no longer in the Riverlands, send riders to find them. Above all, keep this information quiet and tell no one until you have told Prince Gendry himself. I don’t want the boy hearing about this from anyone but you.  
May the Gods be with you,  
Jon Arryn

She stood from her seat when she heard the footsteps down the hall, tucking the letter away in a drawer. A moment later, Arya came bursting through the door.

“Arya,” Catelyn said, embracing her daughter. “Prince Gendry. I’m so glad the Mallisters reached you in time.”

“Mother, what’s going on? Is it your father?” Arya asked, worry splashed across her face.

“No, no…” she trailed off. Catelyn walked across the room to stand in front of Prince Gendry and continued. “I’m afraid it’s to do with your father.”

His eyes were wide. He clearly wasn’t expecting it had anything to do with him. “My father?”

“Yes,” Catelyn nodded solemnly. “Your father went for a hunt and obtained an injury from a wild boar.”

“He’ll be alright, though, won’t he, Mother?” Arya asked quickly.

“I’m afraid his wound is infected and the infection grows worse each day. I do not know much about his state, only that he is not… He’s not like to live much longer,” she said, keeping her eyes focused on the Prince.

Prince Gendry didn’t say anything. He sat down in a chair and stared at the wall. She saw her daughter watching him carefully, but she too remained silent.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace. Truly…” Catelyn said, placing a sympathetic hand on his arm. “I know you’re very dear to him.”

He shook his head and looked in the opposite direction. Catelyn waited for her daughter to come to his side, to comfort him. Yet Arya remained where she stood, silent and waiting.

“You must ride for King’s Landing at once,” Catelyn Stark said, breaking the silence.

“But Mother, we just got here. We haven’t even gone to Winterfell,” Arya protested.

He stood and ignored Arya. “We’ll leave immediately. Thank you, Lady Catelyn, for your discretion and your kind words.”

She held the young prince’s hand. “Prince Gendry, I will pray to the Gods that your father recovers and lives many more years. However, should he pass, I know he loves you dearly and that he has the utmost confidence in you. I’m sorry if you lose him while you’re still young, but I’m learning these days that losing a father is difficult at any age.”

“Thank you, my Lady,” he said softly, kissing her hand. “I’ll pray for your father, as well.” He then nodded in Arya’s direction and said, “I’ll go inform the guard,” before disappearing from the room.

Catelyn turned to her daughter. “Arya, I’m sorry your travels have been cut short.”

She sighed in response.

“Go, be with your Prince.”

“I don’t know what to say to him,” she said, her brow furrowed.

“Arya, he’s your husband. You know him better than I. Comfort him, be kind to him.”

“I’m no good at that. That’s proper lady stuff.”

Catelyn crossed the room and held both of Arya’s hands. Looking into her daughter’s eyes, she spoke with strength, “That’s wife stuff, Daughter. There comes a time when the man you love needs you beside him for something other than pleasant conversation and embraces. It’s your duty as a wife and, more importantly, as the woman who he loves and who loves him back. Go to him and tell him everything will be alright, even if it won’t. He’s being handed a responsibility heavier than I could even fathom. He needs to know that no matter what transpires that you believe in him and support him. More than anything he just needs you beside him Arya, even if he says he doesn’t; he does. He can’t do any of it without you.”

Her daughter maintained eye contact with her mother and she could tell Arya was truly thinking on her words. Arya removed her hands from her mother’s grip and wrapped her arms around her, holding her in a tight embrace. She whispered into her neck, “I don’t know how to be a queen.”

Catelyn held her daughter close, stroked her hair, and whispered back, “Be Arya. That’s all I ever want you to be.” They stood for several minutes and Catelyn could feel the tears silently falling from Arya’s face, reminding her of the silent tears she shed in Ned’s arms. She thought to herself that perhaps she hadn’t totally failed in teaching Arya the ways of a proper lady.


	20. 20

**20  
GENDRY**

Gendry, Arya, and their group rode hard after leaving Riverrun a second time. They only stopped to piss and sleep.

He could tell Arya was trying to find the words to comfort him, but there was nothing she could say and he didn’t want to hear her attempts. He didn’t want to share with her that he was more concerned about himself and her than he was worried about his own father. So, he avoided her and kept their conversations short. He even interrupted her when she finally mustered the courage to discuss the subject in bed at an inn. He simply told her, “I don’t want to talk about this with you. Please leave it alone.” He turned away from her and tried not to think about the sad, confused expression he knew was on her face.

The King was never truly unkind to Gendry, allowing him more freedom than other Kings might lend their sons. Yet, his father had a wall built up around his heart and Gendry often found himself thinking it was more impregnable than the one patrolled by the Night’s Watch.

King Robert Baratheon was a drunk. His small council did most of his ruling for him and he was merely a royal figurehead. Gendry couldn’t remember a night when his father didn’t drink himself to sleep. Sometimes he drank so heavily that his sleep would come before his mid-day meal. In all truth, Robert disgusted Gendry. He found himself hating each person who commented on their likeness, desperately hoping that he would never grow to become like his father.

Gendry had associated becoming King with becoming his father in all forms, no longer just his youthful likeness. He associated it with losing the little freedom he had. And now, married to Arya, he associated it with making her into something she never truly wanted to be. This was the true reason he avoided being alone with her. How could he cause her something so undesirable when he loved her so much?

After about two days of his behavior, he could tell Arya was fed up. He was laying on a bedroll, wide-awake in the middle of the night when Arya, lying beside him, whispered, “I know you’re awake.”

“Ay, I am,” he whispered back. “Go to sleep. We’ll be riding hard again tomorrow.”

“I’m not going to sleep until you turn around and face me,” she said, a little louder this time.

He sighed and rolled over to look upon her, “There? Satisfied?”

She shook her head. “Why won’t you tell me what you’re thinking?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Well, I don’t want a husband who doesn’t know how to talk to his wife, but we all get things we don’t want, Gendry,” she said with a tentative smile, attempting humor.

He sighed again and watched her smile fade. He hated himself for making her feel like this, but he felt too low to do anything about it.

“I’m sorry about your father,” she said honestly.

“I’m sorry about your future,” he replied bitterly.

She furrowed her brow. “What?”

“Your future,” he said a little more loudly. “This means you’ll be queen soon.”

“Is this why you’re avoiding talking to me? You think I’m upset about being queen?”

He nodded, and didn’t bother to add that he was upset about being King, too.

“Gods, you’re an idiot!” she exclaimed angrily.

He heard one of their party stirring, indicating that they were being too loud.

“Get up,” she ordered, pulling his arm as she stood.

He complied, having no fight in him due to his weariness.

She dragged him far from where the rest of their party lay sleeping on the ground and pushed him up against a tree.

Arya stared into his blue eyes, her grey eyes bright in intensity. “I love you, in spite of you being a fool. I’m not angry about becoming queen soon. Honestly. I’m just worried about you.”

He hung his head. “I know, I’m sorry. I just… I feel awful.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to be King and end up like him. I don’t want you to be Queen and end up hating me,” he finally admitted out loud.

She inhaled quickly. “Gendry, I could never hate you. I love you more than I’ve loved anything before in my life.”

He pressed on. “You say that now, but someday when I’m old and fat and drunk-”

“You’re not going to turn into your father. You’re your own person,” she said, interrupting him.

“I’m him! All my life people have told me how alike we are in look, how much I remind him of Robert in his youth. Even your father has told me that my behavior reminds him of when my father was my age,” he argued.

“No! You’re you! You’re Gendry!” she shouted at him.

He didn’t reply, knowing that she wasn’t finished.

“I was afraid of losing myself once. When I heard that I was being married off to some Southron Prince,” she said with a sad smile. “I locked myself away and refused to listen to anyone, even my father. It was Jon who got through to me. He told me that the only person that could ever truly change me is me. I can be Arya forever, whatever way I want to be. You can do the same. Be Gendry. Don’t be Robert Baratheon. Don’t be Prince Gendry or King Gendry. Just be Gendry.”

She took his face in her hands and he felt his automatically go to her waist. He knew in that moment that she was right. He would always be in control of his own actions, if nothing else around him. He could be Gendry and she could be Arya, and together, they could be happy.

He didn’t bother replying; he just captured her lips with his and pulled her even closer into him. They stood at the base of the tree, fiercely kissing each other until Gendry lowered her onto the ground. He didn’t care if someone could come upon them at any moment or if they would end up covered in dirt. All he knew is that he had to have her right then and there. With her he felt powerful and he needed that feeling more than anything at that moment.

They made love in the leaves, staring into each other’s eyes, thinking about nothing but their passion for each other. Once they finished and walked back to the site with their sleeping friends and guards, he laid his head down and drifted into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

**21  
JON**

Jon Snow noticed a considerable improvement in Gendry’s attitude after he and Arya snuck off the other night when they thought everyone slept. Jon was very much awake, but he didn’t follow the pair when they went off to fight or make love or some combination of the two.

Arya would always be his feisty little sister in his eyes, but he was happy that she was so content in her marriage to Gendry. It was still uncomfortable when they would kiss or make suggestive eyes at each other, but he kept silent.

As he rode atop his horse, he remembered the conversation he had with his father about accompanying Arya and Gendry on their travels.

Jon had been in the yard of the Red Keep, training with some of the Southron knights. He bested most of the men, but humbly accepted instruction from some of the elder knights. Jon Snow may have been an excellent swordsman, but he was nothing if not humble. Lady Catelyn had always made sure he never grew overly confident in any regard.

When he finally grew tired and decided to retreat back to his chambers, he noticed his father on the edge of the yard, watching him. He loved when Ned would watch him train. More often than not in Winterfell, he would join Jon and the master-at-arms. Even though Ned watched all of his sons practice swordplay, Jon always felt as though it was their special thing. It was why Jon worked harder on his sword-work than on anything else. Ned spent time with Robb, Bran, and even little Rickon on what it takes to rule lands and be a lord, but Jon had no need of any of that knowledge. As a bastard, he would never have the responsibilities that his brothers would. But becoming a master swordsman was something Jon could do and his father dedicated extra time to watching and teaching Jon to become as fine a fighter as he possibly could.

“You were a little sloppy towards the end there, Jon,” his father said with a smile. “You’re lucky that Ser Rylan was already half in his cups.”

“C’mon, Father,” he said grinning. “I’ve been training all morning. I’m tired.”

Ned nodded, still looking at his son with proud eyes. “I came to ask something of you.”

Jon waited for his father to continue.

“You’ve heard that your sister and Prince Gendry intend to travel and see the realm?”

Jon nodded. Arya had excitedly told him last night of all the places she would finally get to see. He was thankful that his friend Prince Gendry was so eager to please his wife.

“Well, your sister absolutely refuses to allow a group of knights to accompany them,” Ned continued.

Jon chuckled. “I suspected as much.”

“Obviously we can’t have Prince Gendry and Arya traipsing across Westeros unguarded. It’s out of the question.”

Jon nodded, wondering where his father was going with this conversation.

“I think the only way she’ll agree to the guards is if you are among them.”

Jon immediately protested. “Father, no. We are leaving for Winterfell in a week.”

Ned nodded. “Yes, that’s true, but I would like you to accompany Arya and the Prince on their travels to keep her safe. From what I’ve seen in this yard and on countless other occasions, you are more than able to perform that duty.”

“Father, when we ride for Winterfell, I want to continue North and join the Night’s Watch. You know that!”

Jon was furious. Each time over the last four years that Jon intended to go to the Wall, his father came up with some excuse for why he could not join just yet. Jon was nineteen years old and more than old enough to become a man of the Night’s Watch.

“I know you do, but I’m asking you to do this for your sister, for her safety,” Ned said firmly.

“Father! Are you ever going to give me leave to join the Watch?” Jon finally exclaimed. He normally didn’t take this tone with his father, but four years of frustration were pouring out of him.

Ned was silent for a long time and turned his head away from Jon. When he finally spoke, it was a simple answer. “I don’t know.”

“Why?” Jon implored. “Uncle Benjen is First Ranger! If he can join the Night’s Watch, why can’t I?”

“Jon, it is a heavy commitment and it is a difficult life. The land north of the Wall is unforgiving and uncomforting,” Ned said, facing his son once again.

“I’ll have no forgiveness or comfort south of the Wall either! I’ll never be a Lord or hold lands. I don’t fit in here! At the Wall, the Brothers of the Night’s Watch would accept me. My birth would make no matter.”

“Jon, there is plenty that you can do away from the Wall. Have you not thought about any other life for yourself?” Ned questioned.

Jon turned away from his father, facing the stables. He didn’t reply.

“I made a promise a long time ago to always look out for your best interest and protect your happiness as fiercely as I would protect your life. I truly believe that you will not be happy on the Wall, Jon. I would let you go if I thought it was best, but I don’t. Even Benjen has implored me not to send you to the Wall,” Ned said quietly.

His father’s words captured Jon’s interest and he couldn’t remain silent. “Why doesn’t Uncle Benjen want me to join the Watch?”

“Because he believes you won’t be happy, either. He’d never say it, but I honestly believe he regrets joining the Night’s Watch. It’s a commitment for life and when he was eighteen, he didn’t truly understand how long a lifetime is. Now he does.”

Jon kicked a stone across the yard before he finally exhaled. _How could Father think that I want to do anything else but join the Night’s Watch? It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do._ Another voice in his head chimed in. _It’s all I’ve ever thought I would be able to do._

“Father, what else would you have me do?” Jon asked, trying to determine what future Ned Stark imagined for his bastard-born son.

“You could become a knight. You could become Winterfell’s master-at-arms someday. You could become a member of the Kingsguard even.”

Jon Snow had never considered a life as one of the Kingsguard. He had no desire to guard King Robert, but someday Gendry would be King and Arya would be Queen. Perhaps that wouldn’t be so terrible. But in King’s Landing, Kingsguard or not, he would still be a bastard. On the Wall, half the men there were bastards, it would be nothing remarkable.

His father knew he was thinking. “Accompany Arya and Gendry on their travels and think on what I’ve said. When you escort them safely back to King’s Landing, if you still truly want to join the Night’s Watch, I’ll allow it. Consider every future for yourself, Jon. There are many paths you could take and it would be foolish to only consider one route.”

Jon had continued to think on his father’s words and suggestions for his future. The longer he traveled with Gendry and Arya, the more he felt like a Kingsguard already. Yet, he was still a long way away from giving up his dream of the Night’s Watch.

They were riding day and night, stopping only for a few hours of sleep. They often didn’t bother with inns or castles along their route, sleeping under the trees on the hard ground. He felt sorry for his friend, on the brink of losing his father and gaining control of a kingdom. Jon knew that Gendry was not eager to become King and that his relationship with his father was strained at best.

When they were less than a day’s ride from King’s Landing, Gendry ordered the party to stop and rest. It was unusual, because up until that point, Gendry had refused everyone’s requests to stop and rest their horses. The Prince dismounted his horse and whispered something to Arya. She nodded and he walked away, in the direction of a lake they had passed earlier. He probably wanted to bathe, not wanting to arrive in King’s Landing covered in muck.

Arya walked over and sat on a log beside him.

“Gendry’s gone to bathe?” he inquired.

Arya nodded. “He seems better.”

“Aye, he does. There’s still a heavy air around him, though.”

“He’ll be King soon by the sound of it,” Arya said sighing. “That’ll make me Queen.”

“Poor Westeros…” Jon said, shaking his head, fighting a smile.

She elbowed him in the ribs. “Shut up. It’s bloody awful.”

“You’ll be great, Arya.”

“Right,” she replied, her tone laden with sarcasm.

Jon grabbed her hand. “I’m serious. Just remember what I told you months ago when you didn’t even want to meet the man who is now your love. Be yourself. That’s all anyone can ever do.”

She put her head on his shoulder. “I love you.”

He smiled and stroked her hair. “I love you, too, little sister.”

“I don’t know what I’ll do when you go to the Wall, Jon,” she said, catching Jon by surprise. He hadn’t expected her to bring that up.

“You’ll be alright. You’ve got Gendry,” he replied.

She nodded and looked up at him. “I know. I love him, truly I do. But I’ve only loved him for a few months. I’ve loved you my entire life. I can’t imagine what it will be like to go years without seeing you.”

He sighed, feeling guilty and sad at the thought of not seeing Arya for so long. “I can’t either, but soon you’ll have little princes and princesses who take up your time and you’ll forget all about my frozen arse on the Wall.” He expected her to laugh, but she didn’t.

Arya took his face in her hands and he could see the fire of intensity burning in her eyes. “Don’t ever say that. I’ll never forget you, Jon. You’re my best friend and my favorite brother.”

He kissed her forehead and pulled her into a tight hug. He truly loved Arya more than anything. She was the one Stark who always treated him like her equal. She stood up for him when Lady Catelyn would belittle him and fought for him to be included in everything the Stark children did. _How can I abandon her? She is my one true friend._

She let him go and pushed him away lightly, clearly embarrassed from her feminine display. “Stop hugging me! You’re turning me into a lady!”

He laughed and replied, “I don’t think anything could turn you into a proper lady,” ducking from her subsequent blow.

She surprised him by grabbing a guard’s discarded sword from the ground and held it out in front of her, daring him to duel.

He laughed and unsheathed his sword. The pair clashed swords for a few minutes, smiling the whole time. Jon loved how Arya could make something he took so seriously so fun and light-hearted. Thanks to him she wasn’t half bad with a sword either.

Eventually they grew tired and she tossed the stolen sword to the side, lying back on the grass and breathing heavily. Jon sheathed his sword and sat on the ground beside her.

Jon saw Gendry approaching, his hair slick and his face free of grime for the first time in a week.

“What kind of trouble have you two gotten into?” Gendry called, seeing them breathless on the ground.

“Practicing my sword fighting skills in case I ever need to teach you a lesson, dear husband,” Arya replied, smirking at Jon.

“Oh, I’ll live in fear every day,” Gendry mocked. He stood next to the pair. “Arya, you should go wash before we ride into the city. You look like you’ve been making mud angels.”

She laughed. “You take one bath in over a week and all the sudden you’ve got japes for me.” She stood anyway and made her way to the lake.

“I see you’re teaching my wife how to fight again,” Gendry said with a smile.

Jon nodded. “She’s got to learn if she’s married to the likes of you. You can barely hold the sword properly.”

Gendry laughed and shook his head. “Well neither of us would have to learn if you chose the Kingsguard over the Wall, Jon.”

Jon was surprised that Gendry had mentioned the Kingsguard. He wondered whether he was serious or just jesting.

The Prince spoke again. “You know, someday probably in the not so distant future there will be a new King who will appoint new members of the Kingsguard when older ones die out.”

Jon shrugged his shoulders. “You know my father suggested the Kingsguard to me before we left on this adventure.”

“I know,” Gendry replied. “He came to Arya and I a few weeks before we left and explained that he wished for you to stay in King’s Landing and work your way up to the Kingsguard.”

“He did?” Jon was truly shocked now. His father never mentioned that and neither had Gendry or Arya during their long travel together.

Gendry nodded. “You know he wanted us to convince you not to join the Watch. He appealed to Arya, hoping that she would guilt you into staying by her side.”

“Why didn’t she?” Jon asked honestly, surprised that his sister kept this from him. _Hadn’t she just been saying she would miss me terribly if I left her for the Wall?_

Gendry looked at him like he was stupid. “Jon, she knows how important becoming a Ranger like Benjen is to you. She would never ask you to give that up.”

Jon knew how his sister favored him and considered him her best friend, but he never imagined that Arya could love him so selflessly. Both their father and Arya knew that she was the only person who could bend him to her will. He was like putty in her hands and if Arya asked him to stay by her side, he would.

Suddenly leaving Arya to go to the Wall seemed much more serious. He wouldn’t just be leaving his sister or his friend; he would be leaving someone who loved him selflessly. He would be leaving someone who wanted him to be happy more than she wished for her own happiness. The notion took the wind out of him and he had to sit down.

Gendry saw he was thinking deeply and left him. It was a quality that Jon appreciated in Gendry. He always knew when someone needed to be left to their own thoughts.

Jon sat on the log, his mind swirling with the possibility of not joining the Night’s Watch. It was the only future he’d ever allowed himself to imagine. For the first time, he began picturing himself in white as opposed to the stark black of the Watch. He didn’t know what choice he would make, but he knew that either way, Arya would support him and love him all the same.


	22. Chapter 22

**22  
ARYA**

 Arya appreciated her quick bath in the lake more than any proper one she had taken in her life. When she washed the dirt from her skin and the oil from her hair, she felt the weight of her worries wash away, too. She was aware that life was about to become a great deal more difficult and probably unpleasant, but Gendry and she were of the same mindset and she felt prepared to face everything that came their way.

 They rode in the gates of King’s Landing after nightfall, Gendry and Arya cloaked, hoping to slip past the smallfolk without attracting much attention. They were moderately successful with only a few people recognizing them and calling out their names.

 “Prince Gendry! Princess Arya! They have returned!” an old man shouted. He smiled a broad toothless grin at Arya as her horse trotted by him. _At least word of the King’s health has not reached the smallfolk yet. The court must be keeping this information hushed._

 The party managed to make it the rest of the way to the Red Keep with relatively little commotion.

Lord Arryn was there to greet them in the entryway. Arya knew little of Jon Arryn, only that her husband and her father trusted him implicitly, which was enough to gain her trust.

“Prince Gendry, Princess Arya,” Lord Arryn said with a slight bow. “You arrived quicker than I anticipated.”

Gendry simply nodded. He dismissed the members of the party they had been traveling with for the last few months. Arya noticed that Jon Snow lingered in the corner and she made eye contact with him, silently telling him to stay.

“Is he still alive?” Gendry asked, his voice steady and unemotional.

Jon Arryn nodded. “He lingers, in and out of coherence. It won’t be long, though. The Maesters are surprised he made it this long even. I’m sorry, Gendry.” The older man placed a hand on his shoulder.

Arya spoke up. “You should go to him.”

She knew it would be painful and uncomfortable for him, but Arya knew that Gendry was going to need some pushing on this matter. No one knew how long King Robert would linger in this life and she knew that her husband needed to say goodbye.

Gendry and Lord Arryn turned to face her, both looking a little surprised. Gendry didn’t question her, which surprised her in turn. He nodded and made his way toward his father’s chambers, Jon Arryn following him.

“Spoken like a true queen,” her brother said, standing behind her.

When she turned to face him, she found a sad smile on his lips. “He needs to say goodbye. He may not bear the man any great love, but he should see him now before it’s too late.”

“I don’t presume to question you, Arya.”

She sighed. “Well, you should. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time. A few questions wouldn’t hurt me.”

Jon escorted her to her chambers before disappearing to his own. She quickly stripped and changed into a new set of smallclothes. While she preferred many aspects of the nomadic lifestyle she had been living the past few months, there was something to be said for the luxuries of palace life.

Arya wrapped herself in a silk robe and sat down to write a letter to her mother. She got a few lines in before she threw down the quill in frustration. She was unable to focus. All she could think about was the interaction between Gendry and his father. _I hope his father treats him kindly, if he’s even awake and coherent at all. I can support Gendry and assure him he’ll make a great King, but his father’s vote of confidence would go a long way. I know he cares about what Robert thinks of him, though Gendry would surely say otherwise._

Gendry had been gone a while and she decided to go check in on him. She left their chambers and allowed a guard to trail behind her. The hall of Robert’s personal chambers were empty, save for Maester Pycelle and his serving boy.

“Is Gendry in with the King?” Arya questioned.

“Princess Arya, it’s wonderful to see you, despite the circumstances,” the Maester said, bowing.

Arya hated being back to the titles and genuflections. She had only been in the Red Keep for an hour or so and already she felt like escaping. She waived her hand, motioning for the old man to rise.

“Where is Gendry?” she repeated.

“His Grace stopped by momentarily to check in on King Robert, Gods bless him. His Grace is in and out of consciousness. I, of course, gave the Prince his privacy, however, he remained in the chambers only for a few moments. I doubt His Grace was alert enough to converse with the Prince.”

Arya sighed. “Do you know where he went?”

“He left with the Hand of the King. I’m not sure where,” the old man replied.

Arya stood in the hall, looking through the slightly open door to King Robert’s chambers. She felt the need to look in on him. However, she couldn’t begin to explain her motivation. She’d never particularly liked the King. She told the Maester of her intentions and ordered him, his serving boy, and her guard to stand at the far end of the hall.

When she heard them retreat to the end of the hall, she pushed the oaken door so it was just slightly ajar. When she finally faced the King, she was truly surprised.

Before their honeymoon travels, King Robert had been fat and red-faced. The dark, black hair on his head and face had only the slightest sprinkling of gray. Now, though, he looked so frail and white. _Gods he looks half a ghost already._  

She watched him for a while, observing his labored breathing and the sweat dripping from his hair onto his face. Taking a cloth from the bedside table, she decided to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

His eyes fluttered open when she had the cloth pressed to his brow and he rasped something unintelligible.

Arya froze. She opened her mouth to call for Maester Pycelle, but Robert spoke before she could call out.

“Lyanna…”

Arya dropped the cloth on the ground in shock. _He thinks I’m my Aunt._

“Lyanna, I knew you’d come,” he reached for her hand.

“I’m Arya,” she said quietly. “Arya St-… I’m Arya.”

He ignored her or perhaps he couldn’t hear her. “Lyanna, I knew you’d come to me. You’re an angel now. How are the Heavens? Do you ride through the snow with a crown of winter roses on your head? I’ve missed you these years, Lyanna.”

Arya remained silent. She didn’t know what to say to the dying man.

“I’m going to die soon, Lyanna. Will you take me with you? I want to be where you are.”

Arya decided to speak. “King Robert, would you like me to bring Gendry to you? He would like to say goodbye.”

His brow furrowed. “Gendry… The boy…”

“Yes, Gendry. Your son. I’ll bring him to you,” Arya stood up and made to leave the room.

“No stay, Lyanna! Don’t leave me again,” he said loudly, grabbing her wrist. His hands were clammy and his grip was loose. Arya could have easily pulled her hand away. She didn’t, though. She sat back down.

“Am I dying now, Lyanna?” Robert asked. “Is that why you’ve come to me?”

“You’re very ill, Your Grace. If you’ll allow me to go fetch the Maester, he may be able to ease your pain,” Arya replied.

“I feel no pain while I’m with you, Lyanna.”

She noticed how he kept repeating Lyanna’s name, as if he relished the opportunity to say it once more.

“Is there anything you’d like me to tell Gendry, Your Grace?” Arya asked.

“Call me Robert, please. Please, Lyanna.”

Arya sighed. “Robert, would you like me to pass a message along to Gendry?”

“Gendry… He’ll be King now, won’t he?”

“Aye, he will. He’ll be a good King,” Arya said, squeezing Robert’s hand.

“Better than I ever was. I know that, I know. He is a good man. Being King is terrible, though, Lyanna. It turned me into a person I never wanted to be. It made a monster out of me. I sometimes wish that I never took the boy, that I never acknowledged him as my own. His life would be easier,” Robert whispered.

Arya was surprised that Robert ever thought of such things. She tried to comfort him. “He loves you, Robert.”

“I don’t deserve his love. I was a poorer father than I was a King. He would have been better off remaining in Flea Bottom, being a fatherless bastard.”

“Don’t say that. He would not have been better off. He loves you and he has a good life. He is happy.”

The King shuddered and Arya’s instinctually began stroking his hair. She was surprised at her own reaction. _That’s something Sansa or Mother would know to do._

“I love the boy, Lyanna. I never showed him properly, but I do love him,” he said after a while.

“He knows,” she replied, still stroking his gray hair. “He knows, Robert.”

“Will you take me with you now? I’m ready to go now. I don’t need to live another moment without you.”

Arya smiled a sad smile and just stroked his hair.

His breathing grew shallow over the next few minutes and he drifted off to sleep. She was stepping away from the bed when she heard someone whisper her name.

“Arya.”

She turned quickly and saw Gendry standing in the doorway, his brow slightly furrowed.

“Gendry, how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” he replied, quietly.

Arya moved to stand in front of him, holding his hands tightly in hers. “He spoke of you. Did you hear him?”

Gendry nodded slowly.

“It doesn’t excuse him for everything, but he loves you. In his own way, he does,” Arya said, hoping to convince him.

He didn’t reply. He just pulled her close to him and wrapped his arms around her. There they stood for several minutes, just holding each other tightly. Words felt unnecessary. Arya was sure Gendry knew everything she wanted to say.

After a while, Arya had to start fighting off the yawns that were taking over body. She became acutely aware of just how little sleep she had in the last several days. She didn’t want to leave Gendry alone, though.

Try as she might, she was unable to fight all the yawns and her eyes started to close on their own accord. Gendry must have felt it because he pulled his head back to look at her, a small smile on his lips.

“You look exhausted,” he pointed out.

Arya finally allowed a big yawn to escape. “You could say that.”

He chuckled. “Go to bed. I don’t want you falling asleep standing up.”

“No, I’ll stay with you. I’m fine,” she urged.

“Please, go to our chambers. Warm the bed. I’ll come in soon. I just want to sit with him for a while,” Gendry replied, as he rubbed small circles on her back.

Arya nodded. She knew he’d let her stay if he really needed her there with him. She gave him a kiss and walked towards the door. She watched from the doorway as Gendry tentatively walked towards his father. He sat in the same chair Arya had been occupying earlier. She closed the door behind her when she left and went straight to her chambers.

Once inside, she removed her outerclothes and climbed into their bed. It felt so comfortable that she didn’t even try to fight the sleep that overtook her in a matter of seconds. Her final thoughts before she drifted into a dream world were of her husband and how very much she loved him.


End file.
